


Self From Self

by audreyii_fic, Flameysaur



Series: The Season 2 That Could Have Been [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Mad Beauty friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/pseuds/audreyii_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flameysaur/pseuds/Flameysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment."</i>
  <br/>
  <i>--<b>Two Gentlemen of Verona</b> (Act III, Scene i)</i>
</p><p>When Belle sent Rumpelstiltskin to stop the wraith he summoned, she never expected it to drag he and Emma through a portal to their homeland. Left behind in a frightening new world, she can do nothing but use her limited resources (and a certain Mad Hatter) to search for her True Love -- while keeping herself, and Mr. Gold's shop, in one piece until then.</p><p>Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin (stuck in the Enchanted Forest with a distrusting Savior, a few new friends, and some very old enemies) must find a way back to Storybrooke before anything bad can happen to those left behind. Or before he loses his temper with the situation entirely. Whichever comes first.</p><p>
  <i>(Season 2 AU. Canon-divergent.)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dark One's Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreyii_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/gifts).



> This story is based off the [rant/brief series rewrite](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/49787081840/alternative-to-ouat-s2-born-out-of-utter-frustration) by audreyii_fic.
> 
> Due to my inability to write certain characters and situations, some actions will be merely implied or not fully written out. This will have a strong Rumbelle focus but I am going to write the entire season. (If it goes beyond will depend on how the story develops.) The first three chapters are reposts, but after that is new work.

The forest had stood there for nearly as long as Rumpelstiltskin had been alive. The first tiny seeds sprouting long before the first ogre wars and with the monsters gone, they had grown strong and tall. So tall that when the ogres returned the thick trunks not easily uprooted as they searched for food. Branches broke and some trees fell but the forest stood proud and alive.

Then Rumpelstiltskin returned. And the forest didn’t last thirty minutes.

The ogres lasted less than ten.

He almost used his cane. Since disappearing to the Land without Magic, the cane had become an easy weapon. It fit so well in his hand. The strong wood never broke no matter his rage. But he was home and the trickles of magic he felt in the other land were nothing compared to the washing wave he felt now.

Besides, his full curse was back.

It was easy, in the other land, to forget how heavily the curse weighed on his soul. It was reaching, clutching claws, dragging him down down down. It was a creature on his back, whispering nasty little things in his ear. It was the power of the entire world resting in his hands and demanding it be used. It was a beautiful woman, asking for just another moment of time, begging to not be left alone.

So he listened. And the forest burned. And the ogres died. And he was a strange lizard man in a singed suit. And he wasn’t alone.

Rumpelstiltskin turned on his heel. He turned on his bad leg on purpose, just to enjoy the feel of it holding all his weight. The magic around his leg was as warm and comfortable as a favorite sweater found at the bottom of the drawer. You’d forgotten how much you loved it.

Emma Swan, savior and general idiot, stared at him with the wide eyed expression she’d worn a lot of late. Rumpelstiltskin felt two very different urges. The Mr. Gold urge to plant the cane on the ground, smile a tight lip smile and gently ask what was wrong. And the Dark One urge to giggle and do some exaggerated hand motion. Both would bother her, both would get those eyes to snap from a burning corpse back to him, both could drive her off into the land.

She’d die out there, but the idea didn’t bother him much. He needed her before, a savior to break the curse. The curse was broken now and the little idiot didn’t even kill the evil queen. Rumpelstiltskin tightened his grip on his cane and the smile that spread across his lips was too wide and wild. He didn’t care.

“What did you think you were doing, dearie?” He asked, raising his voice so it’d carry over the new field. “Did you even try to stop the beast?”

The wraith was gone for now. It had no desire to be near its summoner and Emma didn’t carry the mark. They were safe, for now. The monster was still loose and he might have to deal with that.

Or maybe he just wouldn’t care.

_Please,_ a familiar voice cooed in his mind. It had an accent you wouldn’t soon forget. _Don’t let anyone else be hurt._

Rumpelstiltskin fought the need to snarl. Control, he needed control to do this right. He had to get back, back to Belle, back to Bae. Claws scraped across the cane’s gold handle. Control. He would do this. He put too many years into this to fail now.

“What _I_ did?” The savior found her voice. She threw one shaking hand to the charred remains around them. “What is that? And what is _that_?” She gestured to his face. He grinned, bright and wide, so she could see his teeth.

“This, dearie?” He giggled, his old Dark One giggle. It felt like the magic around his knee, familiar and safe. “Just my real face. What?” He affected a look of insult, eyes wide and jaw dropped in hurt. “Don’t you like it?”

Emma stared for a good few minutes. Then she threw her hands into the air and let out a rather creative string of curses. Rumpelstiltskin waited. He didn’t mind, this he understood.

“What is going on here?” She finally said, turning back to him.

“What is going on here?” The anger was back, as cold and sharp as a blade. He so dearly wanted to cut her with it. “What is going on here? I’ll tell you.” He didn’t take a step. Instead, he was just right in her face, inches barely between them. Their breath tangled and he could see discomfort widen her eyes. He loved it. He loved making the great savior scared.

Then it was easier to ignore the screaming panic in the farthest corners of his mind.

“ _You_ didn’t kill the queen. _You_ didn’t stop the beast. _You_ let the damn thing drag us into the hat. And now _we’re_ stuck in the Enchanted Forest. And guess what, dearie? There’s no way **_back_**!” He roared the last word, spitting in her face.

Emma struck out, a frantic, fearful push. Her hands moved through him like water and he was behind her. He didn’t even need to think about it. He simple wanted it and the Dark One got it. The Dark One never wanted for anything.

Only Rumpelstiltskin cried for more.

“There has to be a way back.” She turned around, hands up but she didn’t strike. “How did you get there last time?”

“Last time? Last time?”

“Yes, damnit! Stop repeating me.”

He giggled again, still bearing his teeth.

“Last time I spent two centuries creating a protégé, arranging a marriage of true love, and building a curse so dark it would tear this whole world apart. And look!” He spun around, waving his hands at his destruction. “It worked.”

“You’re insane, Gold.”

Oh, that made him laugh. Not giggle. Laugh. It was a harsh, cruel noise and it didn’t stop. Gold. That stupid fake name. That stupid fake life. It was such a nice life too. Bae would have been so happy. He had money, he had power, he had space. More than enough space for Bae and even Belle. His pretty little Belle, back to him happy and whole. And it was so close to being right.

Then the wraith grabbed his ankle and dragged him back to this…place.

“Gold?”

“Rumpelstiltskin, dearie. Or Dark One, if you wish to be formal.”

“….Really? Rumpelstiltskin.” She looked around, like waiting for the punch line.

“Yes.”

“ _That’s_ who you are? Yeah, okay!” She threw her hands into the air again—sans swears—and spun around. “Yeah. Great. Fine! Great.” She kicked a half burnt tree trunk. Ash exploded onto her shoes. She cursed more but spun back to him. “We have to get back. Henry’s back there!”

Henry. Rumpelstiltskin paused, staring Emma down. She stared right back. He recognized the panic on her face, not quite accepted and still held back by anger. He remembered digging through dirt trying to prevent it from settling. She kicked a tree. And every moment he drew his answer out, she tensed more.

“There must be something we can do!” She yelled at last. “Something! How did I get back last time? I mean, there must be…” Panic hitched her voice and she turned but not before he saw a slight glimmer of tears.

“Magic is in your land.” He said after a moment, his voice almost Mr. Gold soft.

“What?”

“Magic is in your land. The barrier is weakened. Perhaps…some of my old spells or ideas will work.” He looked down at his hands, scaly and green. Years spent gathering his work, his power and it took minutes to ruin it all.

But he refused to spend more than a month in this place. The savior is a product of True Love. She’d be useful.

_And Belle would love me to play hero._

His heart hitched. Belle and Bae. So far away.

“I have a castle. My spells and notes will be there.” He offered Emma a hand. “Want to get home?”

“Yes but…” She stood back, with a wary frown.

“Free of charge, dearie.” He said with a smirk. “I have a son waiting for me on the other side too. And I won’t leave him again.” A growl entered his voice but Emma didn’t seem frightened by that. She stepped forward and gingerly took his hand.

Then there was only a field where a forest used to be.


	2. Mr. Gold's Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tends the shop while Rumpelstiltskin is away. She's not as brave as she used to be.

The door to Gold’s shop was open.

It opened every day, at 7:30 sharp, despite no one visiting anymore. Everyone knew Mr. Gold—Rumplestilskin—was gone. The wraith dragged him into the Mad Hatter’s cap, along with the Savior. Some claimed he dragged her with him. Others said she jumped, saving as saviors do. Either way, they were gone. There was no one there to collect the debt people no longer knew if they owed, (though Rumple certainly would have) or sell them deals they shouldn’t take or solve the problems they were too desperate to solve themselves. Yet the door opened.

The windows opened next; thrown, with wild abandon, to the absolute largest opening. The cluttered windows were emptied of things, blinds opened to their fullest then scrubbed within an inch of their lives. The painted names—cheerfully reminding the town who owned this and so many places—were scrapped off in places, which Belle felt awful about. She really did. When she wasn’t thinking of trying to scrape the whole paint off to let more light in.

It wouldn’t be dark anymore. It was always dark, in the tower, in the asylum. It didn’t really matter where she had been. They hadn’t changed. Dark, tiny rooms with tiny windows that were only there to remind her that another day was gone. She had counted each day. First in the tower, then in the asylum. Belle wondered if her punishment was to be aware. She counted each day of the twenty-eight years, known nothing changed, and yet trapped. It was a symptom of her insanity, the stern nurse had told her, to think so much time had passed. She simply misplaced days.

She hadn’t misplaced them. She hadn’t. When her memories returned, when Rumplestilskin told her what happened, it hadn’t been a shock. It was a quiet relief. She wasn’t mad, not really. She found each and every day.

Then she lost her True Love.

That had hurt. Belle hands trembled as she swept the shop with a single minded drive. Each spot swept six times then she moved on. Clean it up. Rumplestilskin would be so happy everything was clean when he returned. He liked things to be clean.

Or had once. Maybe. Belle sometimes forgot. The tower, the asylum. She had every day from there, lined up and counted, but before…that sometimes got muddled. It had been so long…

Sweep one two three four five six. Step. Belle swept, licking her lips. She’d keep the shop open for him. Just like she’d keep his house. It wasn’t fear that motivated her, at least not fear of him. Belle remembered the yelling, being thrown into a dungeon, but it was only a night. And his touch, despite forceful, was so light compared to her nurse or the queen. He never forced her jaw open to make her take pills. He never said she misplaced days. He never opened the door and just smiled and smiled and smiled.

No, Belle wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of being without him. He was supposed to protect her. Belle had been brave once. She had been so confident. But then she found all those days and now she felt scared all the time.

But not when he held her, tight and slightly shaking. Not when he revealed the wraith was his fault, to protect her. And not when he agreed to help get rid of it, to make her happier, to stop her tears.

Then he disappeared. And it was because she asked him to leave.

Belle swept. Her hands might tremble and the windows might be all open, but she would be okay. When Rumplestilskin came back, he’d find her waiting. And he would come back. She was sure of it. He tore apart two worlds to find his son. And his son was still here. So he had to come back. And if she stayed in his shop, he would find her.

This time she wouldn’t be hard to find.

Something crashed in the back room. Belle spun. Her grip on the broom changed, tightened and shifted so it became a weapon. Without thinking, she ran to the noise. She held the broom up high, and when she saw the man dressed in black, she brought it down. The man yelped, jumping up and holding up his hands. Belle paused.

He was familiar. Haunted eyes, firm lips, dark hair, black clothes. She blinked. Then she remembered.

The door opening but no nurse, no queen. Just this man, wearing white clean clothes like the nurse, babbling words that made no sense then.

“My name is Jefferson. I need your help to do something I can’t. There is a man named Mr. Gold. Find him….Mr. Gold will protect you but you have to tell him Regina locked you up.”

She had listened, because the door was open and she wanted out and she thought she was misplacing days and protection sounded perfect. But now Belle saw. Regina locked her up. Rumplestilskin wanted revenge. She sent him to stop the wraith. And now he was gone.

Belle hit Jefferson with the broom again….but not as hard.

“Hey!” Jefferson flinched, skirted back. “I’m here to help.”

“You came through a window.” Belle hefted the broom again.

“I didn’t want to shock you.”

“So you came through a window?” Even Belle knew that was insane. The man, Jefferson, paused. He thought. Then he nodded.

“Yes. I thought you’d be mad. With Mr. Gold—Rumplestilskin—gone.”

Belle frowned. She was mad. But she hit him. It seemed fair.

“You said you wanted to help?”

Jefferson nodded. He scooted around her—keeping out of the broom’s range—then snatched a hat off the floor. She missed it, distracted by the man. It was a tattered old hat, fraying edges and faded fabric. It was covered in dust and had a stain on the inside.

It was the hat that took Rumplestilskin away. The Mad Hatter’s cap.

“It doesn’t work.” Jefferson said, looking at the hat. He rubs his thumbs over an edge, worn smooth from the similar action done many times. “The Savior. She made it work. Now she’s gone. And it doesn’t work.”

“Savior?” The woman who followed Rumplestilskin. Jumped or grabbed. Belle assumed jumped. Rumplestilskin was many things but he never dragged anyone down with him. He preferred to push people from behind. Then he could giggle his insane giggle and enjoy the show. When Rumplestilskin fell, he did it alone and far away from anyone.

That’s why he sent her away. Maybe. Belle forgot. The days got in the way.

“But magic is here.” Jefferson looked up and when he smiled, it was manic and wide. “This hat can travel to any place with magic. We simple need to get some. You know the Dark One’s wares. There must be something here we can use.”

Belle wanted to argue. She didn’t know anything in the shop. She was too busy sweeping. But she looked back to the curtain separating the backroom from the shop, and she thought about the pink house she went to sleep in. Rumplestilskin’s house. If anyone would have magic, it would be him. He never did anything without plans within plans. And she could search. Rumplestilskin wouldn’t get mad if she did it, not if it was to get him back here, back to his son, back to her.

“I…” She tightened her grip on the broom. What if he got mad? What if she lost his protection? What if she went back to a room and counted days?

What if Regina found her and he was gone?

He called the wraith. He wanted to protect her. He would want her to do anything to stay safe.

Do the brave thing, she had thought once, and bravery would follow. Now Belle wanted to laugh. Because she knew what true fear was. She knew the copper like taste in her mouth and it’s reaching grasping claws at her chest and the heavy, endless weights on her limbs. She knew the tremble in her knees and the shaking in her soul and the nasty voice in the back of her mind. It sounded like the queen.

_He’s never going to find you, dearie._ She loved using his words to hurt her.

And he never did. Jefferson found her.

“You think we can?”

“We got to make it work.” Jefferson didn’t seem to mind her long pauses but he leaned closer now, eyes wild. “Have to make it work.” He repeated.

And that made sense to Belle. She nodded slowly. The madness in his eyes calmed her.

“Make it work. Bring him home.”

“Then he’ll protect you.” Jefferson smiled. It was a wicked, wild thing. Belle loved it immediately. Rumplestilskin would smile like that. She could be safe, until he came back, with a smile so much like his.


	3. Books and Bushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking a way to bring Rumpelstiltskin home, Belle finds a teacup. Meanwhile, Jefferson spies on his daughter.

If there was one solution Belle never tired of turning to, it was books. There was a rare problem in her life where books were not a solution. They often weren’t the solution but answers could always be found within their pages. In the case of the Mad Hatter’s cap, she wasn’t sure what she could do; until she stumbled into a small, closed off room in the basement.

It was obviously Rumpelstiltskin’s study. There were still items from his human memories: radios half taken apart, computer repair tools in neat lines, screw drivers and magnify glasses grouped together but more Rumpelstiltskin-y tools have taken their place. Beakers with strange liquids half evaporated sat in neat rows. Papers with strange notes, most half symbols, scattered everywhere. Plants—drying, crushed or some mix of the two—were labeled and put in their place.

The first journal was near the plants, next to a dried out ink well and stained quill. It was brown, leather bound with a cord keeping it closed. When she grabbed it, his magic sparked through her fingers; gentle, familiar and warm. She’d recognize his magic anywhere, in all the worlds. His magic was warmth wrapped in cold, like him. And it parted easily when she opened the journal. She didn’t know if it was weak from Rumpelstiltskin being so far away, or if he didn’t use wards that stopped her, but either way, she opened the book.

Like the paper notes, the journal was mostly symbols or drawings. Occasionally, Rumpelstiltskin would write a word down, but often that word was in an old tongue from their land. Plans, for he was always making plans, were noted down with half phrases and keywords. There were no markings of date or time, no writing down of his days to make his world all the clearer to her, nothing, in fact, but the steady smooth hand of a scientist dealing with magic.

Belle nearly cried. He never felt so far away as when she looked at his disjointed words. Once again, she was left pieces of him but never the whole. The giggling monster, the crying man, the clinging lover, all tiny pieces of the man she so desperately missed. The man she would bring back. She locked the door behind her, ready to protect it from any prying eyes.

Finding the journal was like spotting the first star in the sky. The others dotted the house, found now that she knew to look. They were tucked away in weird spots: under antiques, behind clocks, between cushions. Her strange lover was paranoid and no journal was completely filled or contained any marking of times clearer than the notes themselves.

Then she found the tea cup. It sat on a journal, hidden behind the curio cabinet door. Belle’s hands shook when she grabbed both cup and book. She didn’t think but moved to the kitchen like a ghost, making a cup of tea. Rumpelstiltskin had her favorite, even before she showed up, the same way he still had Bae’s clothes. She wasn’t forgotten, she promised herself. He was coming back.

Tea sloshed over the chipped side when she took the first sip. Tea scaled her tongue but she could almost feel his lips against her. Warm and soft and frantic. When he finally kissed back, he was always frantic, a crushing, glorious kiss where he tried to claim her very soul. Belle pressed the cup harder against her lips and held the still magicked book to her chest. Parts of him barley touched her and it was as close as she could get.

“Rumpelstiltskin.” She whispered, wishing calling him was that easy. She had tried, when she first heard he was gone. She screamed his name until she went hoarse. He didn’t come, which meant he couldn’t come.

A sob escaped her. She crumpled to the floor, spilling tea and clinging to the journal, and she cried. It was a scraping, hallowing kind of cry. The kind that left the body aching and weak when it was done. His magic never fully went away through it, like an awkward embrace of the man she sent away.

When hollowed out, she picked up the cup, cleaned it with her most delicate touch, and put it back where she found it. Then she looked to the journals.

There was nearly twenty in all. She had no idea their order, could barely understand his notes, but it was a start. Most appeared to be from the Enchanted Forest, he took notes on things from there. If he ever wrote down how to get to this land, it’d be in those books.

Belle had to tell Jefferson.

They agreed to meet in the shop when they had news. Jefferson hadn’t wanted to be found in Rumpelstiltskin’s house with Rumpelstiltskin’s lover if he could help it. He returned home instead, to make more hats. He hated the task even as he mentioned it but his hands had grown jittery, even during their short discussion in the shop, without work to do. Belle had found days; Jefferson had found hats.

Belle understood. She hoped, when Rumpelstiltskin returned, he wouldn’t find the marks she was making in the spare room she claimed as her own. She hid the wall marks behind her bed, but when she laid down at night, she couldn’t close her eyes without scraping another day into the wall paper. It was impossible now. She had to count them, she had to know.

It had been nine days since Rumpelstiltskin was gone. Nine days without him. Belle wondered if they’d always spend more time apart than together.

She left the house locked up. It took time to go to each flung open window and lock and close it, but she didn’t mind. She was taking care of his house. It was like the old days, when she was brave. She could forget, sometimes, that she hadn’t started counting. She wore the key to his house around her neck, because it was the closest thing she had to a lover’s token, and went to town.

She hadn’t actually expected to find Jefferson. She was going to call him from the shop. But when she walked by the park, she saw her partner poorly hidden by the bushes. He crouched low, glancing over the foliage every now and then, only to drop back out of sight. Dirt stained the knees of his pants and branches kept grabbing at his scarf, but Jefferson didn’t notice.

Belle dropped down behind him, clutching the teacup journal to her chest.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Jefferson gave her a look then nodded over the green. She glanced over.

Children played in the park, not surprising. That’s what parks were for. A pretty blonde girl swung slowly on a swing. She stared at the dirt, making marks with her shoes. A boy, brown hair and with an oddly familiar nose, leaned close. He held a book and was chatting at a mile a minute.

“…we’ll find your father. Let’s just figure out who he is…” the boy was saying, opening the pages to a book wider than he was.

“Who’s that?” Belle asked, staring harder at the boy. Something about him…

“Grace.” Jefferson said in a half strangled whisper. “My Grace.”

Belle ducked back down, staring at her partner. “Your Grace?”

“My daughter. The queen took her away.” He peaked over the bushes again then back down. His hands trembled on the leaves. “We’re supposed to be together. But the curse didn’t break. The memories. They’re still there. You were supposed to break the curse!” He turned to her, suddenly snarling. The action might have scared her, but Rumpelstiltskin’s moods changed faster and he yelled louder and she didn’t fear him. Belle pushed Jefferson.

“I found Rumpelstiltskin. That was my only task.”

“But the curse. My Grace is going to go mad. I can’t have more hats.” He moaned, eyes shimmering with tears.

“Not if you’re with her.” She leaned closer, grabbing his arm. “If you’re with her,” then she could handle anything. If Rumpelstiltskin were here…

“No!” He flung his arm free, pushing her back. Belle lost balance, falling free of the cover of the bushes. She didn’t stay long though, jumping forward, pushing Jefferson back. Jefferson snarled, matching weight for weight but Belle wasn’t so easily toppled once she expected it. The fight was childish, more of a pushing contest than a real fight and Jefferson never used his full strength but it destroyed their cover.

“Excuse me.” A man, tall, blond, and traditionally handsome, stood over them. He cleared his throat. But they kept fighting. Belle yelped when he grabbed her shirt by the collar and pulled her back like she’s nothing more than a kitten. She bore her teeth at the man, like she’d seen Rumpelstiltskin do, but he didn’t look scared. She guessed it didn’t work without the Dark One curse. “What is going on here? Who are you two?” His brow furrowed in his confusion.

Belle twisted free, snatching the journal from where she dropped it and danced out of arm’s reach. She glared at the pretty man but she pointed at Jefferson.

“ _He_ started it.”

“You pushed me first!” Jefferson complained, still half on the ground.

“But you’re being an idiot. Therefore you started it. That’s the rules.” She stuck out her tongue. They were old rules, from a teasing fight with Rumpelstiltskin. They agreed to it.

The man didn’t look any less confused. He rested a hand on the badge at his hip. That explained why he was bothering them.

“How am I being an idiot?”

“Stupid man! Grace needs you. Take her back. Don’t make her wait. D-don’t make her count.” Her voice cracked. The handsome man took a step forward but she jumped back. No, no touching, not by him. Jefferson frowned. He stood slowly, brushing dirt off his suit. He swallowed hard and looked to the park. The kids weren’t playing now, of course. And pretty Grace stared right at her father, eyes wide.

Belle stared at Jefferson. He could still turn, could still walk away. She knew men who walked to finer edges before choosing the familiar over the better. But his jaw trembled, and the word that escaped him was all tortured hope.

“Grace?”

“Papa!” The girl ran straight to him. Jefferson clutched her into a spinning hug, mumbling affections into her hair. Belle smiled, relaxing slightly. The handsome man tilted his head, still clearly confused, but he was too kind to stop the happy reunion.

Belle looked down at the journal and brushed the soft cover.

“Soon, you and Bae.” She whispered. “And you and me. _I’m_ finding you this time.”


	4. The Dark Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma arrives at the Dark Castle and tries to deal with the newly impish Mr. Gold.

She arrived in the Dark Castle wishing to vomit.

“Jesus, Gold.” Emma swayed on her feet and placed a hand over her mouth. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Purple smoke cleared. The Dark Castle stood as it had since Rumpelstiltskin first built the enchanted palace. Only several layers of dust changed the place since its master’s disappearance over three decades ago.

Light spilled in through large, clear windows. It caressed the large table that dominated the room. A tea set—missing one cup—sat at one edge, like it was still waiting for the guest to come. An old chair, wooden and rickety, sat in one corner facing nothing while far fancier chairs faced a fireplace or was pushed against walls next to suits of armor or dead plants. The only living thing was a single perfect rose in the center of the table. It was still alive; vibrant and red in its dry vase.

“What did you think would happen, dearie?” Gold gave her a smirk, or rather a caricature of a smirk. It was too wide and large to be a real facial expression. He set his cane on the table and stared for a minute. Then he shook himself and disappeared—sans smoke. Emma was alone in the room. Her nausea almost managed to settle before he appeared at her side. She yelped and nearly swung a fist at him but stopped when she saw what he wore.

Leather pants, literal leather pants, with knee high boots and a vest, red and shimmering and apparently made of something that looked a lot like scales. His shirt was an old fashioned shirt, puffy, off white and utterly not matching the quiet pawn shop owner she had known back in Storybrooke.

“What are you _wearing_?” she demanded.

“Feels more natural.” He said in a non-answer then gestured to the table. Emma turned. Books—all brown leather and tied closed with cords—fell onto the table in a rush; spilling over the sides. Her eyes widened.

“We have to read all those?”

“Oh, you can’t read them.” He sniggered and sneered. Emma’s hands balled into tight fists. “These are just my old journals. Need to find some failed plans and this is the best way. Might as well make yourself comfortable, dearie, this will take a while.”

He grabbed a book and opened it. He flicked through a few pages then tossed it over his shoulder. It disappeared into another cloud of purple. Emma frowned and reached for a book but before her fingers got even close a sharp shock singed her fingertips.

“Ouch!”

“Ah, ah.” Gold wagged one finger in her face and smirked. It was even uglier here with yellow teeth and strange eyes. “No one who has ever wished to harm me can read these books. I suggest you sit.” He waved a hand and the chair closest to her pulled out. Emma stared then deliberately went around it to a different chair. She didn’t trust Gold, and she really didn’t trust this prancing flamboyant lizard Gold has become.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here while you go through all these books?”

“You can try and find the kitchen.” He threw the second book over his shoulder and grabbed another. “Or you could clean up the place.” He started it as a joke, the high pitched giggle almost in his voice but then he looked out the window and everything went…wistful. Emma frowned. She shifted in her chair, already bored, and thought back to the field.

“You said you have a son?”

“Had.” He said simply and threw the book over his shoulder. He barely fanned through the pages, occasionally stopping to stare but mostly just a quick look then a toss.

“What happened to him?”

“Lost him.” He paused in a book, finger on the page but eyes not seeing. “Let him go.” He said at last.

For a moment, Emma can remember the first and last time she ever held Henry. She hadn’t wanted too, a nurse handed him to her before she could protest. He was tiny, spotted with pink and already screaming his head off. But before he screamed, he had stared at her for a long moment. He had his father’s eyes. Emma had demanded they take him, all but forced the baby into the nurse’s arms. She wouldn’t feed him. She wouldn’t comfort him. She had said she wasn’t this boy’s parent. He already had one. The paperwork was all lined up. Emma hadn’t wanted to grow attached.

But he had his father’s eyes and that was information Emma didn’t need.

“Yeah. Know that.” She said, voice hollow.

Gold giggled, his annoying new laugh, but it didn’t sound right either.

“Quite different, dearie. You gave your boy to a fine home with lots of money.”

“I gave him to Regina!”

Gold shook his head. He turned on heel and caught her with a look. She couldn’t read this new face of his, scaled and eyes always in a pinpoint. But if she trusted her old instincts, she’d say he was being honest, achingly so.

“You didn’t know that, couldn’t know that. Odds were higher of it not being Regina than being Regina.” He turned back to the books, tossing the one in his hand for another. “Besides, all worked out. Boy got a Savior for a mother. You got a hero for a boy.”

Her heart constricted. Henry’s begging for her to understand, his desperation the moment he bite into the turnover, how much he trusted her…Yes, her boy was a hero. She had no idea how long it would take for her to believe if he hadn’t been in danger. Magic and love weren’t real…or so she thought. Now the man in front of her, a man she doesn’t trust and didn’t like, was right. He understood and that said awful things for his past. What had he lost?

“And what did you do?” she asked.

He turned, only slightly, but she couldn’t see his face. He flipped through more pages of the journal.

“I let him go.” He said at last. “To a strange place. Alone. Without even a Regina to guide him.” The book’s pages fluttered in the breeze…except the windows weren’t open. His hands trembled. Emma paused. She was no good at emotional stuff. She didn’t handle her emotions well; unless it involved punching or screaming. But carefully, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and stared at the book. But after a moment, he brushed against her hand. A silent acknowledgment of touch and acceptance.

“We’re going back.” She promised him.

“Of course we are, dearie.” He gave a sniff and moved from her hand. “If you stop bothering me.”

Emma jerked back, the moment gone, but she flopped back into the chair he had pulled out for her. She looked at the books. There could be hundreds spilling over the long table. Even at his fast rate, they’d be there forever. She frowned though, tilting her head to the side.

The flower still stood in the middle. Books surrounded it but the vase stood tall and proud. And it was so…alive. Even in the forest, there was a…saturation to this world, like someone turned the volume down on the whole place. Magic, Emma assumed only because really thinking about it would drive her mad. She still needed time to think and scream and cry but she wouldn’t leave Gold alone. He could leave and then what would she do. No, to her disgust, she needed him. So she’d stay in the chair.

“Hey.” She sat up in the chair.

“What did I say about bothering me?” Gold half trilled.

“What’s with the rose? It’s still alive.”

Gold looked up then smirked again.

“Oh, someone didn’t make the trip.” He sniggered.

“Someone?”

He waved one hand. Glass shattered and where there once was a flower was a man. He blinked on the table. Then he started feeling over himself, touching booted feet first then rushing up his body and down his limbs. Gold simply grabbed another journal.

“What is going on?” Emma jumped from her chair, reaching for her gun. The man matched the action, but reaching for his sword.

“Monster! What have you done—?”

“Tut.” Gold tossed another book. “Too much noise.” He flicked his wrist again. A rose, whole and healthy, fell onto the table.

Emma drew her gun.

“What the shit are you doing, Gold?” She barely stopped herself from screaming. Her voice shook with the effort of keeping it mostly level.

“Answered your question. He’s some hero. Came for…” Gold trailed off. He put the journal he held down, not tossed away, then reached deeper into the pile. He pulled out one book, it’s cord hanging free. “Some girl.” He said at last, after it was far too late to pretend he couldn’t remember.

“What the hell is going on? You’re acting insane and this magic thing is doing something to you.”

He laughed, like he did in the field, insane and empty, so there was no joy in the noise.

“It’s a curse, dearie.” He bared his teeth at her in what only the kindest of souls would call a smile. Emma wasn’t a kind soul. She cocked her gun. “Please.” He said it almost sadly and lifted a hand.

“No!” She tucked the gun away, worried she’d be left with only one single rose. He giggled.

“Now you’re getting it. Good, the grand Savior can learn.” He pushed the unwrapped journal to the side and picked up the one he set down. “Now if she will be quiet….”

“What about him?” She pointed to the rose.

“What about him?” Gold raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s a buffoon. No use around and at least he’s alive. Better than I can say for some people.” He shrugged, as careless and unaffected as some fop from an old movie but his tone was dark and bitter.Emma frowned.

“You can’t leave him like that.”

“And yet I am. Now, quiet.”

“Gold!”

“ _That—_ ” He slammed the book on the table then froze. He took one deep breath and turned to her. He curved his lips up and spoke deliberately. “That is not my name.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma swallowed, harder than she would like but she met his eye. She never let herself be bullied before and she wouldn’t now.

“I told you my name. Mr. Gold is not my name. Not here. Look, if I do something about the buffoon, will you go away? Find the kitchen. Get food. Cry. Do…something.” He waved his hands at her, trying to shoo her away.

“And how will I know you won’t leave?” “

Because I don’t want you in my house. Now go.” He waved again. She gave him a long look and he sighed. “Here.” He tilted his head to the side and something landed around her neck. She jerked back, clutching at it and felt a flat stone resting at the base of her neck. It was flat and smooth. Gold nodded towards the corner. A mirror stood there, half covered, the blanket half slipped off at some point. Emma walked over, tugging it all the way down. A pretty, if thin, gold chain lead to a hanging pendent, rose and smooth—like polished quartz—with a small rose inside. Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about jewelry from Gold but when she tugged at it, it wouldn’t move. Thankfully the chain was too short to touch her boobs, Emma wouldn't be pleased to be a free pillow for some stranger.

“When we get back to Storybrooke, the buffoon will wake at Moe’s shop. The two knew each other once.” Gold said into a journal. “Until then, he will be safe and quiet with you. Okay? I’m being nice.”

Emma glanced at him in the mirror. Moe? The florist? _He came for some girl. You had her love. You let her go!_ Before the wraith came, there were some rumors; Gold being seen with a girl. Someone young and pretty. Emma hadn’t had time to think about it, the world was going mad.

She looked at the necklace in the mirror again then turned.

“If that’s you being nice, then I’m sorry for your girlfriend.” She said it like a joke, but he flinched at the words. “Where’s the kitchen?”

He carefully turned the page and pointed to a hallway. She’s almost out of the room before he spoke.

“Castle’s enchanted. Ask and you shall receive, but it doesn’t know modern food so keep it simple. Okay, dearie?”

“Yeah, sure. Rumpel.”

Gold glanced up, one eyebrow raised. Emma tried to mimic his smirk and left. This wasn’t going to be a fun adventure.

But it would be one.


	5. Muchness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson and Belle try to solve the curse but when thieves sneak into the shop, the Dark One needs a defender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by audreyii_fic.

On weekdays, Grace is Paige.

At this point, after nearly thirty years in purgatory, Jefferson would happily gut any person or creature or demon who tried to part him from his child. But it's not an outside force separating them now; instead it's Grace herself, _his_ Grace, who still has two lives in her head, and the Paige-life loves her false family. That part of her still wants to sleep in their house, eat their food, let them send her off to school in the morning and tuck her into bed at night. Regina's imposters are still her parents.

(When his daughter tearfully confessed this to Jefferson, his first thought was to simplify matters by removing the false-father from the equation. But if he did that he'd probably have to kill her false-mother too, and _that_ he can't bring himself to do; it's his fault, after all, that Grace can't remember her real Mama. He can't rip the false one away too. Alice wouldn't have liked it.)

Soon Paige's life will only be Grace's bad dream, but as long as they're trapped in this crumbling cardboard cutout of a town, her poor ten-year-old brain will stay mangled by The Curse. So Jefferson puts on smiles he doesn't feel, packs his daughter off to a family of imposters, and spends every Monday through Thursday in the Dark One's shop, with the Dark One's lover, trying -- once again, and forever -- to make his damn hat work.

(Alice would not have liked this either.)

"Do you know if he ever found those slippers?" Jefferson asks from his perch at the desk, focused on yet another spiral notebook of Belle's translations. (He tried reading Rumpelstiltskin's journals himself, but when he touched them he wound up with a nasty shock and a headache that lasted three days. Now, they tag-team: _she_ deciphers the words, _he_ interprets them.) "I was after them at one point," Jefferson continues, "but before I got there they'd walked off into another world." He snickers at his own joke.

Belle doesn't notice; as usual, she's entirely engrossed with sorting, cataloging, and cleaning each piece of the pawn shop's collection. ( _It's my job_ , she'd told him when he'd asked. _Rumple is hopeless at keeping things tidy._ ) Right now she's cross-legged on the floor, with an entire set of silver cutlery spread before her on a clean pink towel, and it's obvious she hasn't heard a word he's said.

"Belle?" Jefferson repeats, a little sharper. She looks up in surprise. "Slippers? Sparkly red ones? Seen 'em anywhere?"

The girl shakes her head; she has a spoon in one hand, a yellowed rag in the other, and a smear of grease across her nose. "No. I think I'd remember that. Would they be useful?"

"Enchanted clothes are enchanted clothes." Even if Jefferson couldn't figure out how to make them Jump, he could probably take apart the stitching to see if his hat would incorporate the scraps. Magic has worked in stranger ways. "We'll keep an eye out. They might be in town somewhere."

"But you said they weren't in the Enchanted Forest."

"Neither was I, but here I am."

Belle frowns in thought. Jefferson watches her red lips silently count each rag rub against the spoon -- _one two three four five six seven_ \-- before setting it aside and moving on to a dingy fork.

Poor girl, he thinks, and returns to the notes.

As a craftsman, Jefferson has to tip his hat -- tip _all_ his hats -- to the artistry of The Curse, which is far and away the best casting he has ever seen. This is a beast of a spell, beautiful in its monstrosity, the absolute pinnacle of both the Dark One's skill and the Evil Queen's raw power. And, even half-broken by the Savior, what's left is still tight. Now it's a sieve instead of a dam, but while little inconsequential things might slip back and through, people cannot. Not without the kind of dexterity a mere Jumper cannot hope to access.

The only good news is that Rumpelstiltskin (never one to put all his eggs in one basket) apparently had multiple alternatives to The Curse in place. These contingency plans are half-articulated in his journals, sandwiched between potion formulas and maps of dozen different realms; sequences of numbers or streams of consciousness, some involving words in old tongues that Belle had had to draw rather than transcribe. The imp created backups of backups. One of them might work _..._

...except at least half of the journals are missing. Either they're lost, destroyed, or never found a way to Storybrooke at all. What isn't incomprehensible is incomplete.

Really. Quite. Maddening.

( _We're all mad here._ )

"What was it like?"

Jefferson blinks a few times; his eyes water as the college-ruled lines swim in his vision. "What was what like?"

"Wonderland." She says the word soft and gentle, as though the mere name might drive Jefferson into a fit. Which, admittedly, is a legitimate concern. "I always wanted to see the world."

He snorts. "Not _that_ world, you don't. If you want to know, ask Rumpelstiltskin." (If Rumpelstiltskin knew, that is. The Dark One did not go to Wonderland. Jefferson asked why exactly once -- and got a dangerously lilting _It's not much of a vacation spot, dearie_ in return. They never discussed it again.)

The pawn shop's self-appointed caretaker exchanges the silver fork for a silver knife; Jefferson doesn't bother point out she's already polished that one. If she wants to clean it more than once, who is he to tell her otherwise? But disappointment radiates off of her, and Jefferson feels bad -- little thing, little Belle, little hands, little frown. It's so obvious that all she wants is to have her adventure in the great wide somewhere, and Jefferson can understand how even the great Rumpelstiltskin melted when faced with that bright blue gaze.

So he humors her.

"Magic is different there," he hears himself say, remembering. Images of his own personal hell loom solid and full in his mind. "It's different everywhere, but Wonderland... plays by its own set of rules. And then, if it's losing, it changes the game.

"There's a Queen."

(But he can't tell her more about that. Off with his head.)

"And a garden."

(But he can't explain why white roses drip red with paint dark as blood.)

"And a cat."

(But he can't describe the grin; there are no words for _cheshire_.)

"And riddles. Thousands of riddles."

(But he can't answer them. Never could. _Oft talked of, never seen, ever coming, never been_ never can be, not when the clock stops and the days rise and fall but tomorrow doesn't arrive _daily looked for, never here_ and Grace is gone gone gone and there's hats hats hats but _alas for their fate--_ )

A soft hand stroking his cheek brings Jefferson back to himself. "I'm so sorry," Belle murmurs low, like she's speaking to a spooked horse. It's her turn to be the sane one. "I shouldn't have asked."

The sharp sound of the door bell makes them both jump.

"Hello?" The feminine voice is familiar. "Is there anyone here?"

Belle immediately presses herself against the wall, curls catching on the edge of a maple bookshelf; Jefferson tosses his hat beneath the desk and creeps towards the curtain that separates the work room from the shop.

Someone gruffly replies to the woman: "Don't waste your time, sister. Just take what you're lookin' for."

"I don't think Mr. Gold would like that very much," says a third person -- a child.

"So? He ain't coming back." And there's the sound of a drawer being opened, the rustle of papers being rifled through, the clink of a display case door sliding to the side.

Jefferson raises his eyebrows. It takes a very special brand of stupid to rob Rumpelstiltskin.

And they won't even have to wait for the Dark One's return to regret it.

"How _dare_ they!" Fear gone under a wave of indignation, Belle ducks under Jefferson's arm and yanks the curtain aside. "Put everything down at _once!_ _Do_ you _mind!_ "

Everyone freezes. Their would-be thieves are entertainingly startled: a dwarf, the Mayor's adopted son, and--

Snow White gasps as Jefferson lounges against the glass display case. Dropping a sheaf of paper, she -- heroically, of course -- shoves Henry behind her frame, shielding him from sight. " _You!_ What are you doing here?"

Belle draws herself up. " _He_ is invited," she retorts, "which is more than I can say for you, _dearie_." (Jefferson nearly bites through his tongue smothering a laugh.) "He's my friend."

" _Friend?_ " Snow White gestures at Jefferson, all indignant accusation. "That man kidnapped me!"

"You hit me with a croquet mallet," Jefferson points out.

"You tied me to a chair!"

"You kicked me out a window."

"You pointed a gun at my _daughter!_ "

Oh. Well, that one is fair. If someone pointed a gun at Grace he'd kick that someone out _ten_ windows.

Meanwhile, Jefferson notes the dwarf is staring at Belle with a strange expression -- and, furthermore, Belle is staring right back at the dwarf. "Dreamy?" she says hesitantly.

The dwarf (who could not look less like his moniker, but dwarfs are bizarre creatures even by a Jumper's standards), blinks. "Tavern girl? What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Henry peeps around Snow White. "Wait, your real name is _Dreamy?_ "

"Shut up."

"You never told me that," adds Snow.

"It was a long time ago. Can't a man have his secrets?"

" _Why_? It's cute!"

The dwarf groans.

Belle utterly ignores this exchange, exclaiming: "Oh, I am _so_ glad to see someone I know!" Sullen though her friend is, she seems thrilled at his appearance; her wan cheeks are flush with life, and her eyes sparkle with happiness. "Where is your true love? The one with the fireflies?" She turns beaming to Snow White, attempted thefts and transgressions clearly forgotten. "Is this her?"

That's it -- Jefferson can't hold back his laughter anymore. The three invaders step back in alarm as the giggles escape him in frothy waves (though Belle only glances at him in her stern _I have seen worse than you, mister, and I am not amused_ way). But, honestly. _Snow White_ and one of her famed _dwarfs_. A mental image for the ages.

Snow looks even less amused than Jefferson's partner-in-crime; Dreamy rolls his eyes. "Charming'd have something to say about that, sister," he says to Belle, before muttering darkly: "And things didn't work out so hot with my -- she's -- oh, hell, it doesn't matter." He shakes himself -- then eyes Jefferson with suspicion. "What about you and yours? Looks like the lost love thing worked out okay."

Belle's expression turns stricken, and this is _not_ a misconception Jefferson wants standing. "No," he interjects hastily, "no, no no no no no. No. My hands have not engaged in anything resembling inappropriate contact with the consort of the Dark One. Already been decapitated once, don't need to try it again."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

Belle snorts. "He wouldn't decapitate you."

"Yes, he would. After slow and horrible torture."

"Rumpelstiltstkin has a girlfriend."

"He's given up torturing."

"Rumpelstiltskin has a _hot_ girlfriend."

"No one _gives up_ torturing. Once a smoker, always a smoker."

"I didn't know he could _have_ a girlfriend."

"You're being an idiot," Belle snaps. Jefferson realizes he's about to get shoved again (since it would seem those are the rules) and braces himself, because for such a tiny creature Belle is surprisingly strong--

\--but, of all things, it's the kid who intervenes. "Don't fight!" Henry cries, stepping forward, full of all the righteous earnestness that only children can summon. " _None_ of us should fight! We all want the same thing!"

"That's news to me," Dreamy mutters.

"No, Henry's right." Snow White raises her hands in the universal gesture of peace. "I'm sorry," she says (to Belle). "We thought the shop had been abandoned. We're searching for anything that might help us reach Emma."

"And Rumpelstiltskin," says Henry.

Snow sighs. "And Rumpelstiltskin," she amends.

(The dwarf just looks disgusted.)

"Playing with the Dark One's collection is a really good way to get yourself maimed," Jefferson says (because they will certainly _not_ sharing their project with the whole town). "Or cursed. Or killed."

"And even if not," Belle interjects, "you can make a horrible mess." Jefferson glances at her; she shrugs. "Once I tried to dust a hammer in the main hall. Have you ever seen lightning trapped in a stone room? Those scorch marks _never_ came off."

Jefferson wants that story later. "The point is," he continues, turning back to their thieves, "none of _you_ would have the slightest idea what you're doing. So unless you've working with someone who understands magic--"

Oh.

Belle stiffens at his side.

Oh, _hell_ no.

Their faces must have given them away, because Snow's hands raise even higher. "We're _not_ working with Regina," she says quickly and reassuringly.

"Don't even know where the bitch is," Dreamy adds. (Henry flinches at that.) "Wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole. It's the nuns trying to find a way through."

Because _that_ makes things so much better. "Raiding Rumpelstiltskin's hoard on behalf of Reul Ghorm? Do you _want_ to be murdered?"

"Rumple doesn't trade with fairies," says Belle. Her fingers have twisted behind together at the small over back; her right thumb taps a sharp rhythm against her left wrist.

Dreamy glances through the cases again. "Who said anything about trading?" he says, eyes resting on a pewter chalice that rests on a plump velvet cushion. (Jefferson considers telling him that cup turns any liquid into poison -- he knows, he's the one who traded it -- but it might be more interesting if they discover it for themselves.)

"The thing is, it's not as though Rumpelstiltskin is _here_ ," explains Snow, looking a little awkward. "He _can't_ make us a deal, so…"

Belle's cheeks turn pink. "You can't just take whatever you want!" she exclaims.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind--"

"Of course he would! You're _taking_ without paying a price! Terrible things would happen!"

"We're making fairy dust, sister. Light magic's not the same."

"It's _exactly_ the same! _All_ magic comes with a price!"

"Yes, but--"

Before anyone has a chance to blink, Belle picks up a paperweight in the shape of a dragon and hurls it across the room; a display case shatters with a crash like the Bandersnatch's tail against the Heart Palace windows. "I don't want you here!" she shrieks."Go away!"

"Whoa, hey, calm down--"

"No! _Go away!_ "

"She's enchanted," Dreamy says, horrified, staring as Belle reaches for another bauble to throw.

Jefferson just grins. There is too much crashing in this room for his taste. "Her jaws bite and her claws catch--" (he saw this at once, the moment he met her, sweetly cracked lover of the darkest sorcerer in any world, light-bright girl who tamed a Jabberwock) "--so you better leave before she finds her vorpal blade and you all go _snicker-snack_."

( _He left it dead and with its head he went galumphing back_ but no one has ever dimmed the eyes of flame and he will certainly never go _galumphing back_ no never not if he can help it--)

The would-be thieves are gone in a flash.

It takes a good five minutes before Jefferson can clear the shattering from his head and sweep the memories back under the rug; when he focuses, Belle has a broom in hand and is sweeping the floor instead of her mind. "I shouldn't have done that," she murmurs. "Why did I do that?"

"They were being nosy. And noisy."

"Still." She's counting the swishes of the broom, Jefferson can tell, but he can still hear the palace windows exploding. Who's the sane one right now? Should they flip a coin? "Maybe the nuns _can_ help."

"The day the Blue Fairy helps the Dark One is the day Regina dances at the Charmings' anniversary ball," Jefferson tells her. "Let them make their plans. We'll make ours." A little ditty comes to his false-mind, and he adds: " _Ye'll tak' the high road, and I'll tak' the low road, and I'll get to Scotland afore ye._ "

"Scotland," Belle murmurs. "Yes. I read about Scotland." She kneels to brush broken glass into a dust pan. "Who was that boy who was here?"

Non-sequitur. "Henry? He's the Savior's son. The Queen took him. Adopted him. Whatever. He plays with Grace. Why?"

"No reason."

Hmm.

"Let's take a break," she says, tilting the shards into the bin. "Is it tea-time?"

( _Round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!_ )

The Mad Hatter smiles. "It's _always_ tea-time."


	6. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumpelstiltskin gathers what information he can from the Dark Castle and drags Emma onwards but Emma is growing frustrated and the Wraith is still on the run. Meanwhile, the Enchanted Forest isn't as empty as some would like to believe.

It took him two days to get through all his journals, even at his pace. With his full power back, he could do away with certain distractions—tired eyes and aching bones disappear far easier than a destroyed leg—but even he needed fuel. Food, and a racing mind needing a pit stop, required breaks that helped as much as it destroyed. He ate in the kitchen, pacing like a cat. The need to move vibrated his bones. Bae and Belle, Belle and Bae. Their names circled his mind, predators against rational thought.

The Savior didn’t help. Emma paced the castle, a constant worry on his mind. At any point she could touch something, find someone (the buffoon was one annoyance too many) or stumble into one of his many traps. He made sure—while she ate the first time—that his most precious rooms were protected: his workshop in the West Tower…and Belle’s room, untouched since the day she left.

The journals were half memorized. How they were written easily gave him a date: barley printed words with no hiding for when he was first learning to write; a simple code even Bae with his honest mind could have decoded were after Bae, after he realized his enemies weren’t simple peasants like himself; then more complicated as he grew smarter, and more paranoid. The contents reminded him of what plan he was spinning at the time. It took him over a century to discover how to even make curses, and how high a cost they demanded. Then he met Cora and wondered about having someone else paying the price. Then he stopped knowing Cora and he knew he had nothing left to sacrifice. He was just an empty monster, with nothing left to give. But that was too late. He needed to his old, failed plans. Jefferson’s hat—an idea he tested as soon as he found the man—brought him here, so the old rules wouldn’t apply.

If Jefferson’s hat had worked before…Rumpelstiltskin stopped the thought. Fate had her plans and he knew better than to fight against her. Even the Dark One couldn’t beat that bitch. Besides, he would have never known Belle…Would that been better for her? The ogres would have come, destroyed her home but she would have died free and unbroken.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t wish for that. He had lived with Belle’s death for over thirty years. He refused to think of it any longer. Belle was alive, whole enough, and waiting for him. He just needed to get back, back to Belle and Bae, Bae and Belle…

Four journals were useful, when he was all done. There were more, he was sure, but he brought any he thought useful to the Land without Magic when he crafted the curse. Still, those were mostly about the curse. There shouldn’t be anything important there…he hoped. A futile gesture, Fate never rewarded _his_ hopes.

“Are we done yet?” The Savior whined. She whined much like Bae did, long, long ago. With a huffy knowledge it’s a whine but an inability to do anything else. She sat like Bae might have, if he ever lived in the Dark Castle. Leg sprawled over the table, slumping down in the chair, dominating as much space as possible.

“Soon, dearie.” He already knew the journal in his hand was useless. The code was too new, when he was in a lull of planning the curse. But it was from Belle’s time and he can’t help but put it down with the useful ones. Five journals, four useful, one a fool’s keepsake. Would he ever stop being a fool?

“Well?” Emma’s feet hit the stone ground with a thud. She straightened in her chair. Her blonde hair stuck up in the back, from her awkward position before, but her eyes sparkled with her father’s fight. Such pure desires for violence brimmed in them both.

“Old passageways between worlds could work but even those are rare.” Jefferson’s hat was still with Jefferson and the beans were long gone…Rumpelstiltskin had gone to the giant’s home himself. Nothing there. Only ashes, bones, betrayal and dead dreams. “If we want to find them, we’ll need to visit some special places.” He paused then looked to Emma. She frowned at the tiny smile curling his lips. “Would you like to visit your castle?”

* * *

The Wraith hungered. It was summoned hungry, its mark leaving a faint but definite trail to his meal. He moved through the deserted town following the trail like a wolf on the hunt. But it was denied its meal. Denied and dragged to an empty world where no one held its mark. The mark was vital. It weakened the soul’s hold on the host, the flesh. Without it, the Wraith could only watch the fleshlings with their secured souls. So the Wraith fled. It left the summoner and companion behind, seeking less aware food.

Magic called to the Wraith, but also warned it. The Wraith was a creature of magic and hate and it knew to stay away from the burning soul of its summoner, no matter how bright and filling it could be. But the summoner’s magic left its own mark, fainter trails but ones the Wraith could still follow.

Far away, someone slept. It wasn’t a real sleep, but deep and never ending and carrying the light touch of its summoner. Souls were always less attached during sleep, this someone’s soul could be begging to be plucked free. The Wraith moved.

This soul, in comparison to the summoner, was dull and half dead but the Wraith was hungry. It flew over fields, around trees, as it came to a bush spotted field of grass and dirt. A small path curled over the hills, an old cart road for the curved domed castle ahead. The Wraith ducked into the earth, heading under the castle. The beating clop of horses pounded across the ground, heading to the same place. A castle. Where a girl slept.

Magic from an old deal protected her, but the deal was running out. Humans were coming. The Wraith would feast.

* * *

Emma wasn’t pleased. Since this could sum up the general state of her emotions since her birthday, she knew she’d need better words to really explore this exact shade of displeasure. Most of the words she thought of were four letter and rather explicit. She could say them, but that wouldn’t get any reaction from her partner. So instead she said what she knew would annoy Mr. Gold—Rumpelstiltskin—the most. Pointing out the obvious.

“There's a dead donkey here.”

“Unicorn technically.” The lizard Gold said, not even glancing at the poor creature. It laid—thankfully only bones now—next to a black brick wall. The room was straight from a book, literately. Emma had seen this place in Henry’s book. Long black walls, with tinted windows that battled against the sun out. A large fireplace—dead now for decades—dominated the room with two elaborate chairs. Emma didn’t know why everything had to be so big and empty here, but she didn’t like it.

Especially with a dead donkey laying on the floor.

“Why are we here? You said you’d be taking me to—” Emma can’t continue. Her _parents’_ castle. _Her_ castle. She was every orphan’s dream come true. Her parents did really want her and she was a princess.

All Emma wanted was to get back to Henry.

“I will, dearie. But people are forgetful and sometimes leave things behind, especially aces they wish to keep hidden in their sleeves for later.” Gold ran fingers over a mantle, moving through objects rather than around them. It sent bugs down Emma spine. _Magic_ was real. Magic. Things of fiction and fantasy and stupid dreams of stupid teenage girls who thought that things could actually get better. Who believed men weren’t liars and yellow Bugs could become homes.

Who believed in homes.

She turned from Gold, from the dead unicorn and looked up. She glanced to the angle the picture in the book had been drawn and wondered if, somehow, _magically_ , Henry could see her if he opened it to the right page. She waved though she knew it was stupid. But why couldn’t it be true? If she was a princess and a savior, why couldn’t she comfort her boy, her child? Did he need comfort? Was he even okay? Regina was left behind. While Mary Margret and David—her _parents_ as if magic wasn’t strange enough—were there, they were powerless and Regina had all her magic back. Didn’t she?

“Gold.” She turned back to him. He was scowling. “What?”

“Truly nothing here. Regina takes her damn friend, traps her below ground for twenty eight years and steals all her stuff. That’s just petty.” He turned on his heels, an elaborate move that still jarred Emma because Gold was all tight control and vicious edges and here he was more like peacock feathers dancing _everywhere_ (so you’d never see the knife coming from behind). “Well, we better go. Dearie?” He offered his hand again but she shook her head.

“Oh no. I am going to vomit if we do that again. We need another way to travel now.”

There was that grin, that tiny smirking grin she hated so much back in Storybrooke. It was worse here with his wide, pinprick lizard eyes.

“And how do you suggest we do that.”

“Make a car!”

He giggled, a mad, charged giggle that she knew was at her expense.

“Can’t do that, dearie. Magic and technology don’t…mix.” He all but purred the word. Her fists balled uselessly at her sides.

“Then make a horse.” She sneered.

Gold raised one eyebrow but waved a hand. Two horses appeared outside the castle.

* * *

Aurora was used to being afraid. On the day of her birth, thanks to her parents struggling for funds thanks to King George calling in all his debts suddenly, she was cursed to die. But at least that was given a clear year: 16. Her parents refused such a choice and gambled more. It took them years to finally get his attention, because her first clear memory is his arrival.

_“I can’t just ‘get rid of’ a curse, dearie. They must be broken. You tried true love’s kiss?” He had sneered the words, lips twisted into an awful smile. But when the lizard man—Rumpelstiltskin as her parents told her over and over again—touched her, it was gentle. And when her parents were discussing his terms, he looked at her with kind eyes._

_Her parents had begged. They promised the world. Rumpelstiltskin had grinned and demanded they provide no help or harm to Regina and Snow White and he’d lessen the curse._

_“Remove the year and the sentence.” He said with a giggle, patting her head. His hand stroked through her hair and it was gentle, kind. Kinder than even some of the servants. “She could live her entire life without falling under the curse.”_

_“But how will it be activated now?” Her mother asked, tears of gratitude in her eyes. They dried quickly.  
_

_"You'd need another deal for that, dearie." And he was gone.  
_

So she was raised fearful. Anything could trigger the curse, any bump, any bruise, any action. Aurora grew used to her fear, welcomed it as a friend and quietly accepted her life.

Then she had met Philip and for a while she felt brave. He smiled at her like she could do absolutely anything. So she tried. It was a simple spinning wheel. It wasn’t supposed to be the curse.

But Philip returned, saved her and everything would finally be okay.

“Where are our horses?” Mulan’s voice was sharp, harsh. Philip never talked like that. Aurora looked out from the small tent Philip and Mulan had built. She had sat on a log, there wasn’t much else she could do.  Now Mulan stood near the second tent. The one just for her, while Aurora and Philip would share. It seemed scandalous but Aurora's empty castle told her no one was around to care. “Did you take them?”

“N-no.” Her voice was weak, shaken and Aurora hated it because in front of this warrior, she felt even weaker. Mulan spoke to Philip as an equal; strong and beautiful and _capable_. Aurora had never been anything but useless.

Only Philip found any sort of value in her.

“Why would I take them?” She fell back on her old training, her back straight, voice calm and mild. Her eyes even darted dutifully to the ground. Her parents had spent a lot of money in making her a pretty bauble. It was the safest thing she could be.

“They’re gone. But Philip didn’t take them. No tracks.” Mulan turned, her cloak turning the small motion into something dramatic. Aurora rose, hitting her head on the branch making her tent and nearly toppling the thing. For a second, old panic flooded her system. _The curse_! She thought in panic then remembered.

The curse was gone. Of that, at least, she was free.

“Philip? Why would he leave?” She stepped out of the tent, afraid but not worried, not yet.

Then Mulan looked at her, with her dark eyes and blank face. But it wasn’t blank. Aurora knew fear, it was her oldest friend. She’d felt it, seen it, every day of her life.

“Where’s Philip?” Her voice went higher, breaking.

Philip was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ALL THE POVs chapter. But I liked it. Especially Aurora, which is good because I was worried about writing her and Mulan. We'll see if I can pull off the sexual tension.


	7. Rent Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Rent Day. Belle and Jefferson decide to go out into town for the first time. They start with the nuns.

Belle had her first real conversation with Henry Mills on rent day. She would have missed it, except she was drowning in Rumpelstiltskin’s journals. The journals taught her much about her True Love, including that he, too, was caught by the curse. The ink changed, grew thinner, harder to read, when Mr. Gold took over the writing. The words became clearer and the subtext all but disappeared. But most importantly, the subject became banal.

            _Nuns late._

_Adoption Re: Mayor – complete_

_Rent due._

That had been followed by a date. Today’s date, well the day, if not the month. Mr. Gold didn’t write down years, of course. He wouldn’t think to, not when they were slipping away beyond him. Only the Queen and Belle had known. Belle had counted.

Belle came into the shop carrying a Gold journal—one with a list of all his properties and the rent due, after all once upon a time, this life was new to Gold even if he couldn’t remember it. The door rattled when it hit a display case. Jefferson left it too closed. He always did. It needed to be open. Open wide. No more closed doors.

He jerked up, papers spilling over the sides of the counter. Belle rushed forward, snatching them almost before they could hit the ground. Clean. Things should be clean. That’s her _job_ , that’s why she’s useful. Rumpelstiltskin never kept anything he couldn’t use. The loose leaf papers (wide rule, she still didn’t have her neat elegant script back; her hand could no longer keep steady) had her translations scrawled over it with a ball point pen (magic, never needed refilling, Belle didn’t trust it). Jefferson was struggling to put the words Belle copied into some kind of sense, but sense was hard enough for the Mad Hatter without also dealing with Rumpelstiltskin’s maze of thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jefferson grabbed the closest item he could, an elongated man carved from wood, and bore it as a weapon. It soothed Belle’s fear—always there, always clutching to her back; it whispered nasty things in the Queen’s voice—to see her friend so protective. It could be only fear on his part. Jefferson feared losing Grace even more now that he had her back. If the Dark One returned and Belle wasn’t in one piece…well Jefferson didn’t trust the imp currently forced to be a man.

“It’s rent day!” Belle put the journal and papers on the counter with a neat tap. “We need to collect it.”

“We?” Jefferson looked around the shop with a frown. They had an agreement. He didn’t run the shop, Belle did. He simply helped with the journals. He was wary to touch Rumpelstiltskin’s things, even to help the Dark One.

“Yes!” She tapped the journal again, six times, a pattern she no longer even heard. It was too familiar. “No one takes me seriously. I need your help.”

Those were the magic words. Belle didn’t know if Jefferson helped from fear or kindness but she stopped caring. Once, she’d refuse anything wearing even shades of pity but that was before the days. Now Belle knew she couldn’t afford it, not anymore.

Jefferson went home first. He needed to change from the clothes he wore when he dropped Grace off. He didn’t like things to change during the Paige days. He wanted Grace to return to everything being the same. He came back in nearly identical clothes but these clothes were clean and with the dark, perfectly tucked scarf, he looked important, intimidating, sane. He didn’t wear his hat. The hat was left at home.

Belle couldn’t dress well. She had found clothes in the guest room she claimed and they would have fit her if she was still the weight she was at the Dark Castle. Instead, the blue sun dress sagged at her hips and hung too low on her chest. She ached for a cloak to cover it, but ignored the want, focusing instead on locking up the shop.

After the thieves, she was even more careful. She would protect his shop, his home, his _things_. Then he’d protect her, when he returned.

And he would return. He had to. His son was here. And…The thought trailed off as Belle wondered if Henry was at any of Gold’s houses. She wanted a better look at the Savior’s son.

  *  *  *

They started with the nuns. According to Mr. Gold’s notes, they were the most troublesome tenets. Commonly late, often rude, and always too holier-than-thou. The fact that he even wrote those comments down said a lot to Belle. She didn’t know Mr. Gold—the mask the Queen forced on Rumpelstiltskin—but he wrote so much clearer than her Rumpel did. She wished Rumpel would write clearly, so she could rescue him and he’d be _home_. But nothing is simple with the Dark One.

Not even collecting his rent.

“We don’t owe _rent_.” The Mother Superior wore a fairy’s face. It sneered down at Belle. She was, Belle assumed, a pretty woman. Round, innocent face, round, innocent eyes. Her hair was straighter here but Belle knew her. Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy, Rumpelstiltskin’s greatest foe. She stood at the door, higher than them thanks to stairs rather than wings but she looked exactly the same.

“Actually you do.” Jefferson’s voice was almost a purr. He pulled out some papers. Belle didn’t even know where he got them. “It’s says right here in the rental agreement.” He tapped the paper and showed it to the Blue Fairy. She, in turn, waved one small hand at the signature.

“That’s the signature of a woman who doesn’t exist. To a man who’s a fiction and not here. Now, if you excuse me, we’re trying to get the savior back.” She said these words to Belle, eyes narrowed and dark.

Belle stared back, remembering a similar day.

* * *

 

Belle wasn’t allowed off the Dark Castle’s property. That was part of forever. But that didn’t mean Belle wasn’t allowed outside, or wasn’t often alone. Rumpelstiltskin had deals to make, plans to enact, damsels to distress. Belle giggled at the last idea as she walked under the stars through his night garden. He had seemed especially proud of a garden only beautiful at night. She had only been at the Dark Castle for a few months but she already knew Rumpelstitlskin wasn’t a man to distress damsels. He preferred to find them pre-distressed and even then, he never took what wasn’t offered.

She had worried, once, what his ‘rather large estate’ might include. But while her master was a trickster and could often be cuttingly cruel, he never asked anything of her beyond a clean castle, hot tea when he wanted it and meals occasionally. It was, honestly, a rather good deal. Her friends and family were safe and all she had to do was work. Belle had never felt so useful in her life.

But. Belle pulled her cloak around her, a sudden wind chilling her. It could be lonely. She looked up to the sky, as she walked along night blooming flowers and magic vines that wormed through the shadows. She didn’t mean to make the wish. It had escaped her heart before she realized she wanted it.

_I would like a friend…or for Rumpelstiltskin to return._

One of the stars began to glow brighter. At first, it was subtle and Belle almost looked away but it seemed to wink at her and she stopped. She tilted her head, a small frown on her lips. It grew brighter and brighter, until the light dominated the entire sky. Belle had to cover her eyes to block it out.

When the light dimmed, and Belle removed her arm, a small woman fluttered in front of her. She had delicate insect-like wings and curling, brown hair not that unlike Belle’s. Her dress was simply ridiculous, pale blue with large flowers as straps and a skirt that went straight out before trails of blue fabric failed to cover her legs. And that wasn’t even getting started on the cleavage.

“I have heard your wish.” She said. Her voice was fluttery, soft but kind. The kindest voice Belle had ever hard. She relaxed instantly, didn’t seem to be able not to. “You are lonely.”

“Not very lonely.” Belle protested. She looked back to the castle. Really, when Rumpelstitlskin was around, she was fine. It was only times like now, when he was gone for days and had barely talked to her before hand, that she felt lonely. “Really, I don’t need anything.” She said, turning back to the woman. She was clearly magic and already, Rumpelstiltskin made sure she knew that certain lesson.

 _All magic has a price, dearie, never forget that._ He had told her on her third day when she asked why he didn’t simply magic the dust away. But he had looked at her so seriously, so sternly she couldn’t dismiss it as a quip. He seemed to be really warning her.

“Don’t need anything?” The woman tilted her head to the side, voice all smooth sympathy. “But there’s such darkness in your life. It dominates you.”

Belle shook her head, because she didn’t feel dominated. She chose this life and she didn’t regret it. She refused to.

“No. This was my choice.”

"You were manipulated.” The fairy fluttered closer, her small hand reaching out. It’d be the first touch Belle had since she’d fallen from the ladder. Rumpelstiltskin had been wary about touch after that. Yet she jerked back, shaking her head.

“No. It was my choice.”

“And who let the ogres get so close you had no other options?”

Belle frowned. “Rumpelstiltskin? It’s not his job to protect the world.”

The fairy’s smile spread. But it didn’t look as sweet as it did a moment before. She fluttered close to a flower. It was pure white and almost glowed under the moon light.

“This flower is extinct you know, yet it grows here as it did a hundred years ago. His magic does that. It could stop the ogre menace once and for all, but he keeps it to himself and his deals.”

“Magic has a price.” Belle said, taking a step forward. She didn’t think why but she flicked her hand, to keep the fairy from the flower. She retreats quickly but Belle notices she moves her hands behind her back only to return them empty handed. Belle frowned. “I think you should leave. I don’t think you’re welcomed here.”

“But, dear, you called for me.”

“I am not the master of this castle. It is not my place to invite guest.” Belle said in her very best lady voice. The fairy smiled and smothered a laugh. Belle nearly growled. She was once daughter of Sir Maurice, fiancée of Sir Gaston. She wasn’t a princess and she wasn’t going to inherent a kingdom but she had been important and now she was servant to the Dark One. In some ways, Belle would argue she’d moved up.

“Dear, you must be lonely. Don’t you want to go home? Go back to your life? The ogres are gone. He can’t call them back.”

That, Belle was sure, was a lie. But it didn’t matter.

“Go. I made a promise. And I never go back on my word.” She said clearly.

“Quite right, dearie.” The cold, soft voice made both women freeze. Belle turned to see Rumpelstiltskin only a few feet behind. He stood, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest. Something gold, looking rather like a bracelet, hung from his fingers, but it was his face that sent chills down Belle’s back. She’d never seen him so without mirth or schemes. His face was as blank and cold as a sheet of ice. You could die from the chills of his soul.

“We had a deal, Ruel Ghorm. I don’t bother your little helpless fairies and you stay off my property.”

“Unless invited.” She replied smugly. “She invited me.”

“I didn’t!” Belle said quickly. She almost raced to his side, placing one hand on his arm. It was as tense as stone. “I just…felt lonely.”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged off her touch and moved like a snake to the fairy.

“And she told you to go. Your invitation is gone.” He reached towards the fairy. She skirted back, wings fluttering fast, but not fast enough. Rumpelstiltskin held a small white pouch. “And you are not allowed to take gifts without permission. You want something from me? You deal for it. Like everyone else. Now. Go.” His voice dropped into a growl and he raised one hand. The fairy, Ruel Ghorm, straightened her skirt and flew up, out of reach.

“You think you are safe here, Dark One, but you will soon see. Not even you can live forever.”

“I don’t need forever.” Rumpelstiltskin said, suddenly back to himself. He giggled and smirked and a heavy weight removed itself from Belle’s heart. “A decade or two is enough.”

The fairy’s face fell, eyes going wide. She couldn’t be gone fast enough then. She fluttered high into the sky, soon disappearing all together.

“She’s gone. Thank goodness.” Belle sighed.

“Goodness doesn’t have much space here.” Rumpelstiltskin said, turning on his heel to look at her. It was an odd motion, too slow to be anything but magic. It made Belle smile.

“Plenty. Thanks for getting rid of her, she wouldn’t listen to me.” She said, her relief made her voice bright, but he wasn’t affected.

“Why was she here at all?” His voice was flat and sharp.

“I told you. I was lonely. I am sorry.” She said quickly, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I just…you were gone for days.” She waved a hand at him, letting that explain everything. He didn’t say anything, face unmoving and eyes unreadable. After a second, he moved closer and held out the bracelet.

“Found this. Thought you’d like it.” He said shortly.

“It’s beautiful.” She said with a smile. It was gold, braided together so it looked more like he weaved it than found it. He reached for her gently, slowly. She offered her wrist and he took it between his fingers. They were soft, feeling nothing how they looked. They trailed over her skin as he clasped the jewelry on. A strange shiver Belle didn’t really want to understand ran down her back, but she smiled brighter at him and leaned in. Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, his hand trailing up her arm to her face. It hovered there for a second. Then he tucked more hair behind her ear.

“Come, dearie. I’m hungry.” He said, voice high pitched and giggly again. Belle fell back and squashed the odd disappointment in her gut. Her master was back. The Dark Castle was already brighter.

* * *

 

“That was a deal with Rumpelstiltskin.” Belle said, her voice strong enough to surprise her. “You have to honor your deals or else you lose everything.” She waved her hand to the building, taking one step up the stairs. She still wasn’t eye to eye with the fairy turned nun, but she was larger. “We can still kick you out. It is our right.”

“You’d kick out nuns?” She sounded scandalized. Belle did her very best Rumpelstiltskin smirked. It seemed to work this time.

“You just said that woman,” Belle taps the paper in Jefferson’s hand, “didn’t exist. So you’re not nuns, you’re fairies and we all know Rumpelstiltskin’s views on fairies.”

“I’m sure he’d be real mad if he came back and heard you made his consort cry.” Jefferson mumbled just loud enough for the Blue Fairy to hear. He stepped up, able to be taller than her on his step, but he just placed one gentle hand on Belle’s shoulder. Like that, Belle switched from smirking to tearful. An old trick that always worked on her father.

“She was so m-m-m- _mean_.” She said, bottom lip trembling. The Blue Fairy’s eyes widened in new fear as she looked at Belle.

“You’re his maid.” she whispered.

“Not anymore.” Jefferson trilled and Belle gave a half sob, poking out her bottom lip more.

“Fine, fine!” The Blue Fairy disappeared into the nunnery and Belle’s tears dried up instantly.

“One down.” She crowed to Jefferson. He grinned his Dark One grin and Belle felt even better. It was almost like doing this with Rumpelstiltskin.

“This is going to be fun.” He said, rubbing his hands together. “Who’s next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally starting to really get into the grove of this work. We have our first real Enchanted Forest flash back, I really enjoyed writing it. Plus, Belle and Rumpelstiltskin are FINALLY in the same room. Too bad it's for such a short time. Still, rent day is going to continue for at least one more chapter. (Belle needs to meet Henry after all.) Maybe more if ideas come.


	8. Companions from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two pairs of travelers meet. Meanwhile, someone watches.

They put Philip into her coffin. It was a struggle, with no horses and Aurora’s dragging dress. Mulan had done most of the work, dragging Aurora’s True Love through the woods without a whisper of complaint. Or any words. Aurora was still shocked at what she said last.

_I know love when I see it._ It had been a lie. Aurora knew fear. She knew sadness, mourning, regret and terror. Love wasn’t an emotion she recognized. Even on Philip, it had seem strange, foreign.

Yet the words felt real when she said it and now, watching Mulan placing her True Love’s body on her bed, her coffin, she saw the emotions she recognized on the warrior’s face.

“He’ll be safe here.” She whispered but she didn’t know if that was true. She had been safe here but that was part of the old deal. The deal was done. The curse was broken.

“We’ll have to pray that’s true.” The warrior straightened Philip on the bed, her fingers lingering—briefly—over his chest, his face, his hair. Aurora’s stomach tightened but she held her chin high. She was a princess and she knew how to project calm.

“What do we do now?”

Mulan pulled away, retreating with quick fast steps, the cloak billowing behind her.

“We…return to base. It will be hard without the horses but—”

There was a flash, and purple smoke billowed from outside the glass room. Mulan jumped in front of her, sword drawn, arm extended to protect her. They heard voices.

“Damn it, Gold.” A woman moaned. Feet crunch against the dried grass and twigs before the quiet but clear sound of retching echoed outside.

There was a giggle and a chill raced down Aurora’s spine. She ran around Mulan, ducking under the arm and racing outside.

Rumpelstiltskin stood next to their lost horses, giggling like the mad imp that he was.

“Sorry, dearie, but you’re the one that wanted to return the horses.”

“Rumpelstiltskin!” Aurora cried out. Hope swelled in her chest as painful as grief. He could help them. She’d give anything to save Philip. Her life, his love, _anything_. As long as he was happy, she would be of use.

The imp jumped at his name. He skittered back before he saw her. It almost looked fearful, except it’s impossible for the Dark One to ever be afraid. When his gold eyes landed on her, he gave a low bow, but froze half way down and rose again.

“Oh my, it’s Sleeping Beauty.” He trilled. “Awake at last I see.”

“I need your help.” She rushed forward, but Mulan grabbed her shoulder.

“No.” The warrior said.

“You don’t understand. He can help Philip.”

“The Dark One helps no one without a price.”

“He helped me!” Aurora tore free from her grasp. She turned back to Rumpelstiltskin. He stood still, watching the exchange with his eternal gaze. “Please.” She begged. “My True Love, the Wraith took his soul.”

“The Wraith?” The woman from before rose from the brushes. She’s a pretty blonde, with the same battle worn expression as Mulan. “You said you got rid of it, Gold.” She snapped at the Dark One. Aurora and Mulan’s eyes both went wide. Rumpelstiltskin just giggled.

“I did, dearie. He’ll slowly starve out here. The Curse took everyone. Or…” He looked back at the girls. “It was supposed to.” He said slowly.

“People still live here.” Mulan recovered faster than Aurora. “Ogres have retaken the land, and we struggle to live, but we are together.”

Rumpelstiltskin made an odd noise in the back of his throat then turned to Emma.

“You done? We need to visit Regina’s old home.”

“I am not traveling by magic again.” The blonde woman wiped her mouth, her face pale.

“Then how do you suggest we get there when you don’t want my perfectly useful horses?” The Dark One waved a hand at Philip and Mulan’s horses.

 Mulan moved forward. She drew her sword, pointing it at Rumpelstiltskin.

“You will not take our horses.” She said, voice cold and intimidating. Rumpelstiltskin laughed. He grinned a wicked smile.

“Really, dearie? And are you going to stop me?” He turned to the sword, almost stroking the sharp metal against his cheek. His yellow teeth flashed. Aurora opened her mouth when a loud bang made her jump. Her dress caught under her foot and she hit the ground hard. Panic drowned her for a minute. She couldn’t hear anything. She just waited for the curse to descend. But it wouldn’t come, not again. She was safe.

“—leave him alone.”

“Have you no sense! Ogres will come back. And the Wraith.” Mulan yelled. The blonde woman yelled back. She held a strange, silver thing in her hand, pointed at Mulan. Rumpelstiltskin laughed and pranced, seemingly enjoying the chaos. Aurora half laid on the ground, no one noticing her at all. Philip lay behind her, breathing but not alive. This was enough.

“Stop!” Aurora snapped as she rose. Her voice—full of royal command—cut through the yelling. Mulan and the blonde woman both turned to her. Aurora knew soldiers. Her kingdom was a warring one. They got their fortune by selling soldiers to fight other’s wars. And while King George bought too much without actually giving a cent, and by ignoring Regina they became a tiny, insignificant kingdom, there was one thing Aurora knew.

Soldiers followed commands.

“That is enough.” She said, holding her chin high. “Yelling will get us nowhere. You need help traveling, and we need help of our own.” She looked to Rumpelstiltskin. “And you like to make deals. So let’s deal.”

* * *

 

Cora was bored. It was not, on the whole, an emotion she quarreled with. Boredom was simply a sign she should check over her plans again. And if her plans were still going well, then that meant she had done her job properly.

Cora enjoyed a job well done.

Still, she preferred to be bored in a fine castle, dressed in silk and with servants rushing around in fear of her wrath. In the “prison” it was less then comfortable. Sure, she had an invisible featherbed tucked into the corner no one could see, and she could lay on it but Cora did not believe in lazing about, even when one is in jail.

“Those people haven’t returned yet.” Hook said. He leaned against the dirt wall, arms crossed and staring up at the entrance in and out of their prison. “There’s no grand celebrating.” He sneered.

“Hmmm.” Cora waved a hand and her magic mirror appeared on a dirt wall. It had taken a bit of a fight to get it to hang on the otherwise loose dirt but even earth knew when to be afraid.

Cora liked it when things were afraid.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.” She cooed to her reflection. They were useless words—words were only needed for the weak, and Cora was _never_ weak—but fun to say sometimes. She was bored. “Where is the china doll?”

Her reflection blurred and faded. It paned over a domed castle, where the sleeping princess lay, and zoomed in.

“Crocodile!” Hook snarled. He pushed forward, knocking Cora to the side. Any other day, she’d turn him into a slug for a few hours but today all she could do was fall on her bed. The heart she long ago removed fluttered and pulsed. This wasn’t good. The Dark One was supposed to be in the Land without Magic, defanged and safe, as she gathered her power. This changed everything.

Cora wasn’t bored anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is my introduction to the villains. Uh, note to any Hook lovers. I do not like him. I will try to be fair to the character, but don't expect redemption and praise.


	9. Rent Day Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle continues to collect rent. She finds her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters to make up for the wait (and the small size of the first one). Maurice/Moe lovers beware.

The other tenets were easier than the nun fairies. Belle struggled to learn either a cursed name from Gold’s notes, or a real name from memory but she was from a small knightdom and didn’t know many beyond the most famous.

She recognized the fearful Cinderella, who paid  the backlog as well as rent without a peep of protest. Her prince stood behind, holding a baby close and tight. Belle would have to read Mr. Gold’s notes later to learn why they feared. Jefferson hadn’t known. It was both after and before him.

She hadn’t know the therapist, who handed over rent with no protest but kept them both for tea to discuss their fears.

“If you’re having problems,” he said to them both, pushing cards into their hands, “please come visit me anytime. Just to talk. I do family counseling.” He said to Jefferson. “And nothing said here will leave the room.” He told Belle. “Come visit any time.”

Belle had taken his card, but his room was too small and tight. It was roomy compared to Rumpelstiltskin’s shop and house, but that was _different_. There she had pieces of her True Love. In that room she hadn’t even had Jefferson, who went still and silent around the gentle redhead.

Jefferson hadn’t wanted help either. He tossed the card away quickly.

“Don’t need help.” He mumbled, fingers rubbing the rim of an invisible hat, “Just need Grace away from the curse.”

Belle had nodded and they continued down their list. They were starting on businesses. Belle didn’t know if Jefferson noticed her circular path, moving closer and closer to a certain house where a certain child of a Savior lived, but if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it. What Jefferson saw changed by the moment and Belle knew better than to try to predict him.

Belle certainly hadn’t predicted the flower shop.

Jefferson held the door open to Game of Thorns, and Belle walked in. The bell announced her and the man behind the counter turned around. He was an older man, large and fat in his age. He liked ermine robes and roaring fires. He had starved as a child, and that’s why he over ate. He’d give his daughter the moon if he could and never let her outside if he could stop her.

Belle watched her father.

“Belle.” His voice broke. He ran around the counter, knocking over two plants. Belle flinched. His arms were strong, warm, familiar and tight. She couldn’t breathe. She was closed in. Walls. Walls. Everywhere. It was dark. Too dark. She hadn’t count the day. No she has to count the days. She can’t lose them, not again. Rumpelstiltskin!

“Let go, Sir.” Jefferson didn’t have a weapon. Not on him. But he said the words like he had an army. Cool, and calm and sane. He folded his arms, eyes squinting, and with no weapon beyond his voice, Belle’s father let go.

“Who are you?” He demanded. “Did you keep Belle from me?”

She should argue. She knew she should argue. But things were too close. She stumbled from the shop, into the street where the walls were far away and the sun shone bright. No darkness. No walls. She was safe. The day didn’t need to be counted.

Belle didn’t know how long she stood outside; breathing in freedom and light, but her father joined her eventually. He looked sad and scared and like everything was his fault. She hated that look. It was the last look she ever saw on his face.

“Belle…” He started. She reached out. He stepped forward, reaching for her hand but Belle grabbed for Jefferson. The Mad Hatter appeared at her side, clutching her hands and leaning close. He’d never touch more than hands, or arms, or any other place he deemed ‘safe’ from Dark One wrath. But Belle didn’t want more. Hands were enough. She could escape from hands.

Her father paused, looking between the two.

“Belle, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were trapped all this time. I would have given anything to rescue you.” He said, reaching forward. Belle shook her head. She knew she was being cruel, comparing his words to other ones, from another man. But fear is such a bitter taste.

And she had never wished for her father’s rescue. She was a selfish creature, wanting to live a life found in books, where the charming prince rescued the damsel.

That had been her mistake. Wanting things to be like books, solved with a kiss and ending happily.

“It’s okay.” She made herself say. “You couldn’t have known. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t even find me.” Of course, he also hadn’t been looking. He thought her dead, dead in the worst way.

“That monster.” Her father spat. “It’s okay, darling. I’ll protect you from them both.”

“I don’t need protection.” Belle said quietly. She looked to Jefferson. He nodded once. He wasn’t exactly “protection” from the missing Queen, but he would keep her safe. “Once I get Rumpelstiltskin back—”

“Back?” Her father grabbed her then. His large hand so much tighter than Jefferson’s grip. She jerked back, not scared of her father but scared of a bruise. If Rumpelstiltskin came back and saw her hurt…

He would be mad. He would be _mad_. He cared for her.

“Let go.” Jefferson said. Again, his tone was cool, cold, the voice of a man who could play sane as soon as it suited him. Her father looked to the man and Belle hated that it was that, not her escape attempt, that made him let go.

“You know the Dark One. You protect my daughter and yet you’ll leave her to that monster?” He demanded, cutting Belle from the conversation.

“I protect the Dark One’s consort.” Jefferson said simply. Her father went red. When he turned to her, his eyes blazed like they hadn’t since she fell from a window and nearly died.

“Belle! What have you done?”

Her face warmed. The Queen had taunted with this before. She had brought her trapped lover, and laughed at her for her “wanton behavior” and “easy virtue”, and Belle had never felt an ounce of shame. She had snapped back, had been proud of her love, had stood true.

Four words from her father, and she wanted to die. It hadn’t mattered that she was still pure, that Rumpelstiltskin had never given her more than a passionate kiss, that he had danced around her as proper as a gentleman when in the castle, had defended her virtue from visitors and deal makers.

It hadn’t mattered that even if she wasn’t, that she would have given up virtue and purity for love and passion and Belle had always know which she valued more.

Now she was ashamed. And she hated everyone for it.

“He loved me, Papa.” She whispered.

“That isn’t love, Belle.” Her father grabbed his shoulders, tore her from Jefferson and shook her. “He enchanted you. He’s using you. Don’t you understand?”

Tears burned in Belle’s eyes and she struggled to remember facing the Blue Fairy. It had been only hours earlier and she had been so strong. Now she felt weak and broken.

“You don’t know him, Papa. He isn’t like the rumors say.” But how can you explain Rumpelstiltskin? The mad imp who’d let a village burn, but only after the children were safe. The man who threw her into a dungeon and gave her a library? Who gleefully tortured a man to near death then shared a blanket with her because she was cold? He was exactly like the rumors said, and so much worse, but also so much better.

“He enchanted you to think that, Belle.” Her father brightened suddenly. “But we can fix it!” He said. He looked around, for Jefferson, but the man was gone. Belle tried to pull free.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. She should be hurt that Jefferson was gone, but he was only one man and her father was quite large. Maybe he had been afraid. Maybe the madness got him. Maybe he saw Grace.

“The town line. Sneezy has become Tom Clark again. It can erase your memories.” Her father smiled. It was a manic smile and Belle felt afraid for the first time. Her father smiled like that once before, when her mother had been ill. It was when she first learned of Rumpelstiltskin, her father wanted to call for him to save her mother’s life. Her mother had made him swear not to, on five-year-old Belle’s life.

“No! Don’t you dare.” Belle had the days. She had all the days counted. If her father took the days, if she couldn’t remember…She kicked her father in the knee, but he didn’t notice. He dragged her down the street. Belle screamed, high pitched and calling. She fought against her father’s grip.

“Help me!” She roared to the sleepy town. “Help me or I’ll sic Rumpelstiltskin on every single one of you! I’ll laugh as this town burns!”

“That’s enough.” The blond man from the park stepped onto the street. The dark haired thief stood next to him. He had a gun; she simply stood like a queen. “What is going on here?”

“I told you,” Jefferson said, hands rapidly making invisible hats. “The Dark One consort is in danger. Save her!”

Belle relaxed as she saw Jefferson. Of course, he didn’t leave.

“The Dark One has enchanted my daughter. I’m trying to save her.” Her father said.

“I am _not_ enchanted!” Belle pulled at her arms. “And if Rumpelstiltskin comes back and I don’t have my memories, he’ll know exactly who to blame! He can see memories. Jefferson will be safe.”

Jefferson stopped making hats.

“She claims to not be enchanted.” The blond man said. He stepped forward, slowly lowering the gun. “So why don’t you let go.”

“Of course she says she’s not enchanted. That’s what enchanted people say.” Her father tightened his grip on his daughter and Belle winced. She would definitely have bruises now.

“You’re hurting her.” The woman thief said. She stepped forward, reaching for Belle. Belle didn’t want to go with the woman thief, but it was better than her father.

“She doesn’t understand. She thinks the Dark One can love. I have to take her to the town line.”

The woman thief paused. She gave Belle a long look then turned her Queen expression to her father.

“Then we will work with the Blue Fairy to remove any enchantments on her. But taking her to the town line is expressly forbidden. Give her to me, and we will take care of her.” She put out one small hand. Her father hesitated but slowly let go of Belle. She stumbled forward, beyond the woman thief. Jefferson emerged against, taking her hands.

“Sorry I let go.” He whispered.

“People keep doing that.” Belle mumbled but huddled close to the Mad Hatter.

The blond man rushed to her side, asking stupid questions like if she was okay. Belle gave answers but mostly just shook her head. The woman thief talked her father into returning to his shop. Belle swore, softly and under her breath.

“What?” Jefferson asked quickly. The blond man hadn’t heard. He rushed to the woman thief.

“I never got the rent.”


	10. Finding and Losing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is unsure of the new deal to allow Mulan and Aurora join them, but a deal is a deal. Mulan also reveals she knew a brunette bookworm once to Rumpelstiltskin's great surprise.

“Are you sure about this, Gold?” Emma asked as she struggled to start a fire. She hit the rocks together awkwardly, pretty confident that the rocks weren’t supposed to be _any_ rocks she just happened to find but she hadn’t known anything beyond that so she went with what she had. Gold watched, lizard face unreadable, and she knew he could just poof a fire into existence but she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer, so she kept fighting.

“I know what I’m doing, dearie.” Gold chimed. He glanced over to the women though. Mulan was collecting firewood and Aurora was supposed to be helping, but the long fabric in her dress got caught on things and she mostly hovered at the edge of the campsite, in view of Mulan but not in the way. She twisted her fingers in her hands, the confident woman from before gone. She made her deal, and Emma’s gut twisted.

“You didn’t even ask for anything. Not even horses.” Emma waved a hand to the two horses munching fine grain in feed bags that Gold had poofed into existence. Or stole. Emma hit the rocks harder. They were going to hunt the wraith now, not just try to get home and Emma didn’t know if she liked that or not. She wanted to be back with Henry, but she didn’t want that _thing_ loose in the world either. She supposed that was her inner hero speaking up. She hated that voice.

“A favor is much more useful in the fullness of time.” Gold nodded to the fidgeting Aurora. “When things are settled, she’ll have a kingdom and she has plenty of soldiers wandering around Storybrooke. There’s power in such thing, in such man power.” He mumbled. Emma straightened her back and gave Gold a level look.

“Is this about finding your son?”

He barely flinched, Emma gave him some props, but for a controlled man like him, it said a lot. Emma took a deep breath.

“I’m good at finding people.” she said.

“I know.” His voice was cool, calm, almost like his old self. Emma relaxed slightly when that happened. She preferred cold, human Gold to this insane lizard he sometimes became. He was always lying either way, but at least as a human she knew how to read him.

“I can help.”

“First we need to get back.” Gold tilted his head and threw his hand in the air. Fire jumped into existence in the small rock pit they filled with wood. Emma smiled and sat back. Everything ached, her stomach still hadn’t calmed from before and she was going to sleep on the hard ground, again. Yes, she wanted to be back. She wanted to be with Henry. She wanted to feel sane again.

“Are we going to Mary Margaret and David’s castle?” She couldn’t call them “Mom and Dad”, she couldn’t even call them Snow and James (David? Charming?). She didn’t have those words in her soul. She only had the names she learned to care for before this whole mess turned out to be true. Mary Margaret and David, the pair that were meant to be and yet weren’t. Her parents, maybe, but more importantly, her friends.

Emma groaned and pushed back her hair. Something draped over her shoulders and she blinked. It was Mulan’s cape, still warm from her shoulders, and tingling with that extra buzz in the air Emma was learning to recognize as magic. She glanced to Gold. He smirked, but tilted his head.

“This is hard on you.” He said simply, then rose as Mulan stormed back into camp and demanded to understand. He was already dancing on his toes.

* * *

 

Cora was not pleased. Rumplestiltskin would change all her plans, he always did. Years passed and her old…teacher still confused her. Every time she thought she got a hold of him, could figure out his plans, he slipped free, did something odd.

She foresaw the curse. That had been an easy thing to figure out. She easily saw his use of her daughter—he was always brilliant at making others pay for his crimes, she loved that best about him—to cast it. But she couldn’t see _why_. What did he gain from traveling to a different world? And why had he demanded paltry gifts from dear Snow and her Sheppard Prince?

Cora didn’t know if these things still mattered, but Rumplestiltskin was in this land and that changed things. She wanted to release Hook; the charming swine would easily join with the women. He had the face for it. But not with Rumplestiltskin there…

Cora stared into her mirror. It couldn’t watch Rumplestiltskin directly, too much magic, but she could watch the strange blonde woman whose side he never left. They barely liked each other, Cora was pleased to see, but nonetheless they stood together. Back to back, because neither wanted to look the other in the face.

If Hook hadn’t been glaring into the mirror, Cora might have let her hand rise, let the fingers stroke the smooth glass and pretend to feel soft scales. Human skin never felt right under her fingers after touching him. She always knew he was her destiny. Only as a foolish girl had she assumed that must mean love.

“We need to separate her.” Cora said instead, tapping her finger against the image of the woman. “She has some ties to your crocodile.” She smiled warmly at Hook. His single hand flexed and relaxed.

“I can get her away.” He said with a smirk he probably thought was dashing. Cora gave a slight tilt of the head.

“Perhaps, but we can’t risk Rumplestiltskin recognizing you. I have,” she lifted a hand, purple smoke filing their small “cage”, “other plans.”

Above the jail, smoke trailed out and people began to cough.

* * *

 

“I don’t trust you.” Mulan didn’t have her cloak back. She’d given it up when she saw how tired and cold the blonde woman was. Emma, the warrior reminded herself. They’d barely spoken, but Mulan already felt kinship with her. She recognized another warrior.

“I’m not asking for trust.” Rumplestiltskin giggled as if nothing in the world could bother him, but his eyes trained on her. “You knew me. I didn’t know my reputation went as far as…your lands.”

Mulan frowned, crossing her arms. She wasn’t sure if that was a slur or not, and she’s become expert at picking out insults from the polite masses. She glanced to Aurora, sitting by the fire, also cold. Emma had given up the cloak. Not just a warrior then, Mulan noted.

They were talking at least, simple, polite talk, but Aurora wasn’t looking so lost and Mulan felt a touch of her burden lift, for the moment.

She’d promised Philip she’d take care of Aurora. Mulan would do anything for Philip. As a friend of course. A good friend.

“It has.” She said shortly, turning back to the imp. “Only whispers though.”

“Not enough to have anyone calling.” He almost sang his words. That bothered Mulan, too much cheerfulness was always a sign of something wrong. Sometimes he seemed to relax around Emma, if you could call going as still and silent as a viper ready to strike relaxing. She didn’t understand their relationship.

“No. I thought you weren’t real.” Mulan paused and stared harder at him. “But someone told me otherwise.”

“Who?” He smirked and Mulan’s frown grew. Did she ever get back to him? The sweet girl who wanted to be a hero? Would he smile like that if she did?

“A girl. A woman. She wanted to be a warrior but found it too taxing.” Mulan paused and the smile came. “But she was brilliant.”

He was still now, the imp with a mad smile. He was still, and quiet and tense. Mulan turned her eyes to Emma, somehow knowing, if he attacked, she’d be able to stop it. Something about how they didn’t talk to each other, something about how she called him “Gold”, something…

“Who was she?” His voice sounded like it belonged to another man.

“She called herself Belle.” Mulan looked back now, turned her full gaze to the monster. “She said she loved you. She said she was coming back.”

“Lies!” He roared the word, and Mulan was flung back. She hadn’t even felt a blow. She was just on the ground.   
“Gold!” And Mulan was right. Emma was up, at the imp’s side, arm crossing his chest. His chest heaved. Aurora was there too, she crouched near Mulan, soft lady hands trying to pull her up.

“You promised us protection!” Aurora said in her sharp princess voice. “That includes you.”

Mulan didn’t know if that stopped the imp. He shoved Emma aside but stormed up to her. He offered a hand. Mulan stared at it, looking at the green gold scales for any sign of magic, but finally took it. He lifted her as easily as he pushed her down.

“Sorry.” He muttered. “Belle…Why didn’t you tell me…” He stopped and turned, walked away, needed space. Emma hovered, too close to not be “on his side”, and too far to be too close.

And Aurora stood next to Mulan, arm linked with hers. Mulan hadn’t even felt the slim limb latch on, but it was there now, warm and comforting.

“He can’t hurt you.” She said firmly. “We bargained for protection.”

“You never included him in your deals.”

“But he never said he could hurt us. So it includes him.” She had such confidence here, it marveled Mulan. The girl was weak, almost simpering sometimes, and yet she stood against the monster with a head held high and arm tight around Mulan’s.

The imp returned.

“I apologize.” He said again, and took a deep breath. “That was an inappropriate response.”

“What caused this, Gold?” Emma crossed her arms and he specifically didn’t look to her.

“Belle.” He said the name quietly, with reverence. “The Queen…had her. Stole her off the street, because of me.” He flexed his hands, magic crackled. “She was— _is_ —my…True Love.” He licked his lips and put on a sneer. He turned to Emma with it. “She’s stuck. Back there. Alone. After decades of being alone. Because of _me_.”

Emma’s arms dropped. She took a half step forward then grabbed his shoulder.

“We’re going back, Gold. We’re going _back_.”

And that was what Mulan couldn’t read. The look shared between the two of them, more intimate than friends, more distant than strangers. They broke apart together and Emma returned to the fire, Rumplestiltskin to besides the tents. Mulan glanced to Aurora and gave her a slight nod. She stared for a moment—were her eyes always so bright?—then smiled. She squeezed Mulan’s arm before letting go and returning to the camp fire. Mulan stared for a moment but walked back to the imp.

“We need a plan of attack.” He said quietly.

“She broke a curse with a single book and her own brilliance.” She replied. A silent deal was struck. Information for information, story for strategy.

Mulan didn’t worry about this deal.

* * *

 

Magic was supposed to be used. Rare was a creature who could call it up and let it hang in the air. The wraith learned to track it, magic meant souls and souls meant food. The wraith hungered and his summoner was messy when emotional.

The magic left him a trail to a sleeping camp and the wraith dropped his coin beside a sleeping woman. Her hand fell over it, the symbol searing into her flesh but it'd take time to rip the soul free. For now, he vanished, like smoke.

Soon he’d feast.


	11. Rent Day Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle meets Henry and comes to a startling conclusion.

They gave Belle hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. She eased off the spiced cream but the warmed drink gave her a prop to hold. The two saviors, the sheriff and the thief, talked around her rather than at her but Belle remained quiet. Jefferson lingered near the door (too closed, need more air) with shoulders tensed and eyes on her. The thief didn’t like him, which was another reason to dislike her, and the sheriff was her dog, biting when told and chasing the foxes his master taught him to sniff out.

You missed the true foxes that way.

The boy, the Savior’s son, sits at the bar with her. The thief and her dog ignore him too. He is the Queen’s child. Rumplestiltskin would like it if she befriended him, if she got him on their side—for they were a side, always a united side—because it would give them a strength against the Queen.

She wished that was the only reason she wanted to know him.

“We still haven’t found Regina.” The thief was suddenly talking to Belle. Her voice was soft, sweet even, and she had the eyes of a princess. But she broke into the shop and Belle would never forgive that.

“You need Rumplestiltskin back. He’s the only one that can help us.” Belle’s grip tightened around the cup and she glanced back to Jefferson. He nodded quickly, hands making hats. She wished he’d step in farther. The windows were closed and the door only cracked. Jefferson stayed by the door to keep it cracked, the thief or her dog would close it otherwise. They already did once.

The room was small, tight, especially with the bed dominating half the space. It made Belle’s breath small, tight. She gripped the cup tighter, trying to sear it’s warmth into her palms.

Neither prison was ever warm.

“We’re working on getting them back.” She reached over, the thief, and tried to pat Belle’s hand, but the small woman jerked away.

“No you’re not.” Her voice wasn’t sweet. It was hard, and cold. Tears, inside her somewhere, burned, but her eyes were dry.

The Savior’s child watched her with round familiar eyes.

“If you were,” she continued, “you’d be asking about Jefferson and I’s plans.”

“Do you want to work toget--?” The thief started. Belle slammed the cup on the counter, chocolate scalding her hand. She liked the pain.

“No! You’re not to touch his things.” The journals were important, but for her eyes only. These people must not touch his things. They weren’t _family_. She was family. She was.

The boy had his nose. He watched her with his eyes.

The Savior’s son.

Belle’s hands shook around the cup. The tears roared in her gut, in her chest, but she didn’t cry.

“You don’t understand. It’s necessary to get him back. It’s the only way we can be safe! He’s strong.”

“And he’s also self serving.” The dog spoke gently. He reached out, compassion in his eyes, on his face. A simple man, easy to read, and good. Goodness burned on him. It clung to his clothes, to his face, to his being like stink on a pig.

“But he’ll protect us.” She argued.

He had too. Rumplestiltskin with his human skin, and human eyes. The Savior’s son with his human skin and human eyes.

Belle wasn’t the only one to love him. She knew she never would be. Not Rumplestiltskin with his brains and his mirth, his pains and his anger. He was mixture of light and darkness, innocence and wickedness, gentlemanly behavior and monstrous deeds. He was complicated and layered and anyone could love him.

But these two didn’t. They looked at her with her father’s expression, pity and sadness and grief for the poor cursed girl.

Or maybe they knew. Maybe they knew that Rumplestiltskin may have held her close and kissed her tight, and took her home, but he hadn’t touched beyond that because he had other obligations.

Belle had thought the Savior jumped. She was a Savior. That was their job, to jump. But now she wondered if something else made the Savior jump. If she couldn’t let her son’s father disappear again.

He was the Queen’s son. The Savior hadn’t shown up for a decade after his birth. A father could take the son, and Rumplestiltskin was smart. A child would be a weakness, but given to the enemy as a present, as something to love and cherish, he’d be safe, taken care of, always watched but not a weakness.

Rumplestiltskin had human skin and no curse. Only True Love’s kiss could do that.

“Are you okay?” The thief reached out again but Belle pulled away. She shook her head. Her body trembled with the worst fears realized. It shook with greatest nightmares coming true. Belle had believed, she had faith, she _knew_ he’d care for her. She’d walked from his dungeon with head held high and knowledge her only barrier against the pain.

Rumplestiltskin loved her, truly loved her, the kissed proved it. But another had kissed him. Another removed his curse. Another, not her, not silly Belle, not broken Belle, not…her.

“You miss him.” The boy touched her. The Savior’s son with Rumplestiltskin’s eyes. Belle wanted to hate him, to hate this mix of him and someone else. But his eyes, strange but familiar, watched her and she found herself nodding. “We’re gonna get him back.” The boy smiled an adult smile, full of sympathy and knowledge.

“Yes.” Belle swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Once him and Emma are back,” the boy continued, shattering her moment of calm. “It’s going to be okay.”

Bella swallowed hard jumped up. She couldn’t be here, in this tight room with her True Love’s True Love child.

“You owe us rent.” She said primly and thrust her hand out. Jefferson was there, taking it. Carefully, always carefully but also tightly. She glanced to him and anxious grey eyes stared into hers. Maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t. But he wanted to care for her. He believed Rumplestiltskin still cared.

Belle wondered how true that was.

* * *

She watched the town. Long ago, the clock tower was fitted for such an activity. The translucent clock face looked impenetrable, a face with no eyes. But Regina knew better. She was smart, smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for. Rumplestiltskin, Emma, that sniveling child and her worthless husband. They all thought her simple, thought her defeated. But Regina was smart and even with her mirror still locked up, she had eyes.

The space was small, and dark. It had electricity, but she couldn’t risk people noticing the night. She mostly watched the town—her town—walk below. Archie rushing from person to person, trying to offer his cursed help on others. Snow and her husband trying to keep peace. She talked heavily with the powerless Blue Fairy; they reopened the mines and hoped for diamonds for dust.

She’d seen the angry dwarf meet with a wingless fairy in the dark. They kissed under a street lamp, haloed by light. They kissed with the open wonder that only True Love kisses could have.

Regina had gone to bed and dreamed of Daniel that night. She’d woken up with fresh tears, fresh pain. Fresh desire.

Henry walked the streets openly. He didn’t worry. He knew she’d come back for him. He was _waiting_ for her to come back for him. He might miss Emma (and oh did Regina crow when Rumplestiltskin’s little plan took not only him, but the savior away too) but Regina was his mother. Henry knew that. Henry understood that.

Henry understood.

He always understood her.

Regina placed a hand against the cool glass of the clock face and locked down. The girl, the asylum girl, Belle, half ran down the street. Regina didn’t need to see her face to know tears ran down. Jefferson, fearful and crazy, trailed after her, a puppy after its master. But Jefferson wasn’t Belle’s dog. He might try to escape from the yard, but he was hers. This whole town was hers. They just forgot.

They thought their memories freed them, but the town line was still up. It was still hers. Regina’s nails scraped against the glass. She’d just need to find the old book. Once she learned to reuse her magic, everyone would remember.

It was in Gold’s shop. Everything was in Gold’s shop. She’d just have to find it.

Regina watched Belle turn towards Jefferson, suddenly yelling. She smiled. Maybe the girl would like a deal. She was Rumplestiltskin’s girl after all.

There was always a deal to be made.


End file.
